The Shepherd To His Love By Violet Jacob

    Abune the hill ae muckle star is burnin’,
        Sae saft an’ still, my dear, sae far awa,
    There’s ne’er a wind, noo day to nicht is turnin’,
        To lift the brainches o’ the whisperin’ shaw;
     Aye, Jess, there’s nane to see,
     There’s just the sheep an’ me,
    And ane’s fair wastit when there micht be twa!

    Alang the knowes there’s no a beast that’s movin’,
        They sheep o’ mine lie sleepin’ i’ the dew;
    There’s jist ae thing that’s wearyin’ an’ rovin’,
        An’ that’s mysel’, that wearies, wantin’ you.
     What ails ye, that ye bide
     In-by – an’ me ootside
    To curse an’ daunder a’ the gloamin’ through?

    To haud my tongue an’ aye hae patience wi’ ye
        Is waur nor what a lass like you can guess;
    For a’ yer pranks I canna but forgi’e ye,
        I’fegs! there’s naucht can gar me lo’e ye less;
     Heaven’s i’ yer een, an’ whiles
     There’s heaven i’ yer smiles,
    But oh! ye tak’ a deal o’ courtin’, Jess!