William Thom

The Lass o’ Kintore

AT hame or afield I am cheerless an’ lone,
I ’m dull on the Ury, an’ droop by the Don;
Their murmur is noisy, and fashions to hear,
An’ the lay o’ the lintie fa’s dead on my ear.
I hide frae the morn, and whaur naebody sees;
I greet to the burnie, an’ sich to the breeze;
Though I sich till I ’m silly, an’ greet till I dee,
Kintore is the spot in this world for me.
  But the lass o’ Kintore, O, the lass o’ Kintore,
  Be warned awa’ frae the lass o’ Kintore;
  There ’s a love-luring look that I ne’er kent afore
  Steals cannily hame to the heart at Kintore.

They bid me forget her, O, how can it be?
In kindness or scorn she ’s ever wi’ me;
I feel her fell frown in the lift’s frosty blue,
An’ I weel ken her smile in the lily’s saft hue.
I try to forget her, but canna forget,
I ’ve liket her lang, an’ I aye like her yet;
My poor heart may wither, may waste to its core,
But forget her, O never! the lass o’ Kintore!
  O, the wood o’ Kintore, the holmes o’ Kintore!
  The love-lichtin’ ee that I ken at Kintore;
  I ’ll wander afar, an’ I ’ll never look more
  On the gray glance o’ Peggy, or bonnie Kintore!