Hugh MacDonald

Bonnie Greenlaw

O, THE CAULD breath o’ winter, sae bitter and keen
Has stown frae the woodlands their mantles o’ green;
Nae wee bird sings sweetly, nae flower blossoms braw;
A’ nature ’s grown cheerless at bonnie Greenlaw.

But ’t isna the sang o’ the mavis we mourn,
Nor the wee droopin’ harebell sae withered and torn;
There ’s a form and a face, there ’s a sweet smile awa’,
That ance gladdened winter at bonnie Greenlaw.

Short syne seems the time when in simmer’s nicht gloom,
Wi’ laughin’ and daffin’, we pu’d the Law-bloom,
Or scaured the wee lambs o’er the fresh dewy lea,
While jinkin’ in joy round the auld saughen-tree.

When the bright sun o’ hairst slippit doun to his bed,
We soucht the row’n tree for his berries sae red;
While the short hours o’ gladness gaed smilin’ awa’,
Undimmed by a’ care frae the woods o’ Greenlaw.

When the sweet spring returns, and cauld winter is gane,
The primrose and gowan we ’ll welcome again;
But there ’s ae flower, I ween, we lo’ed better than a’,
That we ’ll ne’er meet again ’mang the woods o’ Greenlaw.