James Hogg

Sing on, Sing on

Sing on, sing on, my bonnie bird,
     ⁠The sang ye sang yestreen, O,
When here, aneath the hawthorn wild,
⁠     I met my bonnie Jean, O.
My blude ran prinklin through my veins,
⁠     My hair began to steer, O;
My heart play'd deep against my breast,
⁠     As I beheld my dear, O.

O weels me on my happy lot!
⁠     O weels me on my dearie!
O weels me on the charmin' spot,
     ⁠Where a' combin'd to cheer me.
The mavis liltit on the bush,
     ⁠The lavrock on the green, O;
The lily bloom'd, the daisy blush'd,
⁠     But a' was nought to Jean, O.

Sing on, sing on, my bonnie thrush,
⁠     Be neither flee'd nor eerie;
I'll wad your love sits in the bush,
⁠     That gars ye sing sae cheerie:
She may be kind, she may be sweet,
     ⁠She may be neat and dean, O;
But O she's but a drysome mate,
⁠     Compar'd wi' bonnie Jean, O.

If love wad open a' her stores,
⁠     An' a' her bloomin' treasures,
And bid me rise, an' turn an' choose,
⁠     And taste her chiefest pleasures;
My choice wad be the rosy cheek,
⁠     The modest beamin' eye, O;
The yellow hair, the bosom fair,
     ⁠The lips o' coral dye, O.

A bramble shade around her head,
⁠     A burnie poplin' by, O;
Our bed the swaird, our sheet the plaid,
     ⁠Our canopy the sky, O.
And here's the burn, an' there's the bush
     ⁠Around the flowerie green, O;
An' this the plaid, an' sure the lass
⁠     Wad be my bonnie Jean, O.

Hear me, thou bonnie modest moon!
     ⁠Ye starnies twinklin' high, O!
An' a' ye gentle powers aboon,
⁠     That roam athwart the sky, O.
To see me gratefu' for the past,
⁠     Ye saw me blest yestreen, O;
An' ever till I breathe my last
⁠     Ye'll see me true to Jean, O.