William Stanley Braithwaite, ed. The Book of Georgian Verse. 1909.
The Maid That Tends the GoatsWilliam Dudgeon (17531813)
U
Sweetly rings the rising echo
To the maid that tends the goats,
Lilting o’er her native notes.
Hark, she sings, “Young Sandy’s kind,
And he’s promised aye to lo’e me;
Here’s a brooch I ne’er shall tine
Till he’s fairly married to me.
Drive away, ye drone, time,
And bring about our bridal day.
Aften does he blaw the whistle
In a strain sae saftly sweet,
Lammies list’ning daurna bleat.
He’s as fleet’s the mountain roe,
Hardy as the Highland heather,
Wading through the winter snow,
Keeping aye his flock together.
But a plaid, wi’ bare houghs,
He braves the bleakest norlin blast.
Canty glee, or Highland cronach;
Nane can ever match his fling
At a reel, or round a ring.
Wightly can he wield a rung;
In a brawl he’s aye the bangster;
A’ his praise can ne’er be sung
By the langest-winded sangster.
Sangs that sing o’ Sandy
Come short, though they were e’er sae lang.”