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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. Dinah Maria Craik Dinah Maria Craik's other poems: 1198 Views |
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