Ebenezer Picken (1769–1816)

BLITHE are we set wi’ ither;

Fling care ayont the moon!

Nae sae aft we meet thegither

Wha wad think o’ partin’ soon?

Though snaw bend down the forest trees,

And burn and river cease to flow,

Though Nature’s tide ha’e shored to freeze,

And winter nithers a’ below,

Blithe are we, etc.

Now round the ingle cheerly met,

We’ll scog the blast, and dread nae harm;

Wi’ jows o’ toddy, reekin’ het,

We’ll keep the genial current warm.

The frien’ly crack, the cheerfu’ sang

Shall cheat the happy hours awa’,

Gar pleasure reign the e’enin’ lang,

And laugh at bitin’ frost and snaw.

Blithe are we, etc.

The cares that cluster roun’ the heart,

And gar the bosom stoun’ wi’ pain,

Shall get a fright afore we part,

Will gar them fear to come again.

Then, fill about, my winsome chiels!

The sparklin’ glass will banish pine;

Nae pain the happy bosom feels,

Sae free o’ care as yours and mine.

Blithe are we, etc.