Robert Burns

Young Jockey

YOUNG Jockey was the blithest lad
  In a’ our town or here awa;
Fu’ blithe he whistled at the gaud,
  Fu’ lightly danced he in the ha’!
He roos’d my een sae bonnie blue,
  He roos’d my waist sae genty sma’;
An’ aye my heart came to my mou,
  When ne’er a body heard or saw.

My Jockey toils upon the plain,
  Thro’ wind and weet, thro’ frost and snaw;
And o’er the lea I look fu’ fain
  When Jockey’s owsen hameward ca’.
An’ aye the night comes round again,
  When in his arms he takes me a’;
An’ aye he vows he’ll be my ain
  As lang’s he has a breath to draw.