When o'er the hill the eastern star Tells bughtin time is near, my jo, And owsen frae the furrow'd field Return sae dowf and weary O; Down by the burn, where birken buds Wi' dew are hangin clear, my jo, I'll meet thee on the lea-rig, My ain kind Dearie O. At midnight hour, in mirkest glen, I'd rove, and ne'er be eerie, O, If thro' that glen I gaed to thee, My ain kind Dearie O; Altho' the night were ne'er sae wild, And I were ne'er sae weary O, I'll meet thee on the lea-rig, My ain kind Dearie O. The hunter lo'es the morning sun; To rouse the mountain deer, my jo; At noon the fisher seeks the glen Adown the burn to steer, my jo: Gie me the hour o' gloamin' grey, It maks my heart sae cheery O, To meet thee on the lea-rig, My ain kind Dearie O. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...AUSPEX by JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL FOR MY CHILD by JOHANNA AMBROSIUS TAKING IT FROM THE BOY by CHARLES WILLIAM BRODRIBB SEA AND SHORE by RICHARD EUGENE BURTON CHARADES: 1 by CHARLES STUART CALVERLEY THE MAN OF PEACE by BLISS CARMAN |