Young Jamie, pride of a’ the plain,Sae gallant and sae gay a swain,Thro’ a’ our lasses he did rove,And reign’d resistless King of Love.
But now, wi’ sighs and starting tears,He strays amang the woods and breirs;Or in the glens and rocky caves,His sad complaining dowie raves:—
“I wha sae late did range and rove,And chang’d with every moon my love,I little thought the time was near,Repentance I should buy sae dear.
“The slighted maids my torments see,And laugh at a’ the pangs I dree;While she, my cruel, scornful Fair,Forbids me e’er to see her mair.”