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The Lass o’ Kintore AT hame or afield I am cheerless an’ lone, I ’m dull on the Ury, an’ droop by the Don; Their murmur is noisy, and fashions to hear, An’ the lay o’ the lintie fa’s dead on my ear. I hide frae the morn, and whaur naebody sees; I greet to the burnie, an’ sich to the breeze; Though I sich till I ’m silly, an’ greet till I dee, Kintore is the spot in this world for me. But the lass o’ Kintore, O, the lass o’ Kintore, Be warned awa’ frae the lass o’ Kintore; There ’s a love-luring look that I ne’er kent afore Steals cannily hame to the heart at Kintore. They bid me forget her, O, how can it be? In kindness or scorn she ’s ever wi’ me; I feel her fell frown in the lift’s frosty blue, An’ I weel ken her smile in the lily’s saft hue. I try to forget her, but canna forget, I ’ve liket her lang, an’ I aye like her yet; My poor heart may wither, may waste to its core, But forget her, O never! the lass o’ Kintore! O, the wood o’ Kintore, the holmes o’ Kintore! The love-lichtin’ ee that I ken at Kintore; I ’ll wander afar, an’ I ’ll never look more On the gray glance o’ Peggy, or bonnie Kintore! William Thom's other poems: Распечатать (Print) Количество обращений к стихотворению: 1223 |
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