Poem by Dinah Maria Craik

Rothesay Bay

FU’ yellow lie the corn-rigs
    Far doun the braid hillside;
It is the brawest harst field
    Alang the shores o’ Clyde:
And I ’m a puir harst-lassie
    That stan’s the lee-lang day
Shearing the corn-rigs of Ardbeg
    Aboon sweet Rothesay Bay.

O, I had ance a true-love,—
    Now, I hae nane ava;
And I had ance three brithers,
    But I hae tint them a’;
My father and my mither
    Sleep i’ the mools this day.
I sit my lane amang the rigs
    Aboon sweet Rothesay Bay,

It ’s a bonnie bay at morning,
    And bonnier at the noon,
But it ’s bonniest when the sun draps
    And red comes up the moon:
When the mist creeps o’er the Cumbrays,
    And Arran peaks are gray,
And the great black hills, like sleepin’ kings,
    Sit grand roun’ Rothesay Bay,

Then a bit sigh stirs my bosom,	
    And a wee tear blin’s my e’e,—
And I think o’ that far Countrie
    What I wad like to be!
But I rise content i’ the morning
    To wark while wark I may
I’ the yellow harst field of Ardbeg
    Aboon sweet Rothesay Bay.

1. Coming Hame
2. The Lost Piece of Silver
3. The House of Clay
4. The Unknown Country
5. Westward Ho!

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