John Crawford

Ann o’ Cornylee

I ’LL twine a gowany garland
  W’ lilies frae the spring;
The fairest flowers by Clutha’s side
  In a’ their bloom I ’ll bring.
I ’ll wreathe a flowery wreath to shade	
  My lassie’s scornfu’ ee;
For, O, I canna bide the frown
  O’ Ann o’ Cornylee.

Nae gilded ha’, nae downie bed
  My lowly cot maun cheer,
A sheilin’ on the banks o’ Gryfe
  Is a’ my worldly gear;
A lanely cot, wi’ moss o’ergrown,
  Is a’ I ha’e to gi’e;
A leal heart, sinking ’neath the scorn
  O’ Ann o’ Cornylee.

The linty ’mang the yellow broom,
  The laverock in the lift,
Ha’e never sang the waes o’ love
  O’ hope and joy bereft;
Nor has the mavis ever sang
  The ills I ha’e to dree.
For lovin’ o’ a paughty maid,
  Fair Ann o’ Cornylee.