Arthur Quiller-Couch, ed. 1919. The Oxford Book of English Verse: 1250–1900.
| MEN grew sae cauld, maids sae unkind, | |
| Love kentna whaur to stay: | |
| Wi’ fient an arrow, bow, or string— | |
| Wi’ droopin’ heart an’ drizzled wing, | |
| He faught his lonely way. | 5 |
| |
| ‘Is there nae mair in Garioch fair | |
| Ae spotless hame for me? | |
| Hae politics an’ corn an’ kye | |
| Ilk bosom stappit? Fie, O fie! | |
| I’ll swithe me o’er the sea.’ | 10 |
| |
| He launch’d a leaf o’ jessamine, | |
| On whilk he daur’d to swim, | |
| An’ pillow’d his head on a wee rosebud, | |
| Syne laithfu’, lanely, Love ‘gan scud | |
| Down Ury’s waefu’ stream. | 15 |
| |
| The birds sang bonnie as Love drew near, | |
| But dowie when he gaed by; | |
| Till lull’d wi’ the sough o’ monie a sang, | |
| He sleepit fu’ soun’ and sail’d alang | |
| ‘Neath Heaven’s gowden sky. | 20 |
| |
| ‘Twas just whaur creeping Ury greets | |
| Its mountain cousin Don, | |
| There wander’d forth a weelfaur’d dame, | |
| Wha listless gazed on the bonnie stream, | |
| As it flirted an’ play’d with a sunny beam | 25 |
| That flicker’d its bosom upon. | |
| |
| Love happit his head, I trow, that time | |
| The jessamine bark drew nigh, | |
| The lassie espied the wee rosebud, | |
| An’ aye her heart gae thud for thud, | 30 |
| An’ quiet it wadna lie. | |
| |
| ‘O gin I but had yon wearie wee flower | |
| That floats on the Ury sae fair!’— | |
| She lootit her hand for the silly rose-leaf, | |
| But little wist she o’ the pawkie thief | 35 |
| That was lurkin’ an’ laughin’ there! | |
| |
| Love glower’d when he saw her bonnie dark e’e, | |
| An’ swore by Heaven’s grace | |
| He ne’er had seen nor thought to see, | |
| Since e’er he left the Paphian lea, | 40 |
| Sae lovely a dwallin’-place. | |
| |
| Syne first of a’ in her blythesome breast | |
| He built a bower, I ween; | |
| An’ what did the waefu’ devilick neist? | |
| But kindled a gleam like the rosy east, | 45 |
| That sparkled frae baith her e’en. | |
| |
| An’ then beneath ilk high e’e-bree | |
| He placed a quiver there; | |
| His bow? What but her shinin’ brow? | |
| An’ O sic deadly strings he drew | 50 |
| Frae out her silken hair! | |
| |
| Guid be our guard! Sic deeds waur deen | |
| Roun’ a’ our countrie then; | |
| An’ monie a hangin’ lug was seen | |
| ‘Mang farmers fat, an’ lawyers lean, | 55 |
| An’ herds o’ common men! | |
