Robert Burns

Gala Water

THERE ’s braw, braw lads on Yarrow braes,
  That wander through the blooming heather;
But Yarrow braes nor Ettrick shaws
  Can match the lads o’ Gala Water.

But there is ane, a secret ane,
  Aboon them a’ I lo’e him better;
And I ’ll be his and he ’ll be mine,
  The bonny lad o’ Gala Water.

Although his daddie was nae laird,
  And though I hae na meikle tocher,
Yet rich in kindest, truest love,
  We ’ll tent our flocks by Gala Water.

It ne’er was wealth, it ne’er was wealth,
  That coft contentment, peace, or pleasure;
The bands and bliss o’ mutual love,
  O that ’s the chiefest warld’s treasure!