Poem by Allan Cunningham

My Nanie-o

RED rowes the Nith ’tween bank and brae,
  Mirk is the night and rainie-o,
Though heaven and earth should mix in storm,
  I ’ll gang and see my Nanie-o;
My Nanie-o, my Nanie-o;
  My kind and winsome Nanie-o,
She holds my heart in love’s dear bands,
  And nane can do ’t but Nanie-o.

In preaching time sae meek she stands,
  Sae saintly and sae bonnie-o,
I cannot get ae glimpse of grace,
  For thieving looks at Nanie-o;
My Nanie-o, my Nanie-o;
  The world ’s in love with Nanie-o;
That heart is hardly worth the wear
  That wadna love my Nanie-o.

My breast can scarce contain my heart,
  When dancing she moves finely-o;
I guess what heaven is by her eyes,
  They sparkle sae divinely-o;
My Nanie-o, my Nanie-o;
  The flower of Nithsdale ’s Nanie-o;
Love looks frae ’neath her lang brown hair,
  And says, I dwell with Nanie-o.

Tell not, thou star at gray daylight,
  O’er Tinwald-top so bonnie-o,
My footsteps ’mang the morning dew
  When coming frae my Nanie-o;
My Nanie-o, my Nanie-o;
  Nane ken o’ me and Nanie-o;
The stars and moon may tell ’t aboon,
  They winna wrang my Nanie-o!

1. Bonnie Jeanie Walkinshaw
2. Gordon of Brackley
3. The Lily of Nithsdale
4. Margaret and Mary
5. Mary Halliday

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