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FAIK JANET. |
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He's tane his young son in his arms, And kist him cheek and chin,—
And he 's awa' to his mother's bower, By the hie light o' the moon.
" O open, open, mother," he says,
" 0 open, and let me in ; The rain rains on my yellow hair,
And the dew drops o'er my chin,— And I hae my young son in my arms,
I fear that his days are dune."
With her fingers lang and sma'
She lifted up the pin; And with her arms lang and sma'
Received the baby in.
" Gae back, gae back now, Sweet "Willie,
And comfort your fair lady ; For where ye had but ae nourice,
Your young son shall hae three."
Willie he was scarce awa',
And the lady put to bed, When in and came her father dear :
" Make haste, and busk the bride."
" There 's a sair pain in my head, father, There's a sair pain in my side ; |
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