Robert Tannahill (1774–1810)

WE’LL meet beside the dusky glen, on yon burn side,

Where the bushes form a cosie den, on yon burn side;

Though the broomy knowes be green,

And there we may be seen,

Yet we’ll meet—we’ll meet at e’en, down by yon burn side.

I’ll lead thee to the birken bower, on yon burn side,

Sae sweetly wove wi’ woodbine flower, on yon burn side;

There the busy prying eye,

Ne’er disturbs the lover’s joy,

While in ither’s arms they lie, down by yon burn side.

Awa’, ye rude, unfeeling crew, frae yon burn side,

Those fairy scenes are no for you, by yon burn side;

There fancy smooths her theme,

By the sweetly murmuring stream,

And the rock-lodged echoes skim, down by yon burn side.

Now the plantin’ taps are tinged wi’ goud, on yon burn side,

And gloamin’ draws her foggy shroud o’er yon burn side;

Far frae the noisy scene,

I’ll through the fields alane,

There we’ll meet, my ain dear Jean, down by yon burn side.