Behind yon hills where Lugar* flows,|
'Mang moors an' mosses many, O,
The wintry sun the day has clos'd,
And I'll awa to Nanie, O.
2. The westlin wind blaws loud an' shill;
The night's baith mirk and rainy, O;
But I'll get my plaid an' out I'll steal,
An' owre the hill to Nanie, O.
3. My Nanie's charming, sweet, an' young;
Nae artfu' wiles to win ye, O:
May ill befa' the flattering tongue
That wad beguile my Nanie, O.
4. Her face is fair, her heart is true;
As spotless as she's bonie, O:
The op'ning gowan, wat wi' dew,
Nae purer is than Nanie, O.
5. A country lad is my degree,|
An' few there be that ken me, O;
But what care I how few they be,
I'm welcome aye to Nanie, O.
6. My riches a's my penny-fee,
An' I maun guide it cannie, O;
But warl's gear ne'er troubles me,
My thoughts are a' my Nanie, O.
7. Our auld guidman delights to view
His sheep an' kye thrive bonie, O;
But I'm as blythe that hands his pleugh,
An' has nae care but Nanie, O.
8. Come weel, come woe, I care na by;
I'll tak what Heav'n will sen' me, O:
Nae ither care in life have I,
But live, an' love my Nanie, O.