Роберт Таннахилл (Robert Tannahill)

Our Bonny Scots Lads

Our bonny Scots lads, in their green tartan plaids,
     ⁠Their blue-belted bonnets, and feathers sae braw,
Rank'd up on the green were fair to be seen,
     ⁠But my bonny young laddie was fairest of a'.
His cheeks were as red as the sweet heatherr-bell,
⁠     Or the red western cloud looking down on the snaw,
His lang yellow hair o'er his braid shoulders fell,
     ⁠And the een o' the lasses were fix'd on him a'.

My heart sunk wi' wae on the wearifu' day.
⁠     When torn frae my bosom they march'd him awa',
He bade me farewell, he cried "O be leel,"
     ⁠And his red cheeks were wet wi' the tears that did fa'.
Ah! Harry, my love, though thou ne'er shouldst return,
⁠     Till life's latest hour I thy absence will mourn,
And memory shall fade, like the leaf on the tree,
     ⁠Ere my heart spare ae thought on anither but thee. 

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