Young Jockie was the blythest lad,
In a’ our town or here awa;
Fu’ blythe he whistled at the gaud,
Fu’ lightly danc’d he in the ha’.
He roos’d my een sae bonie blue,
He roos’d my waist sae genty sma’;
An’ aye my heart cam to my mou’,
When ne’er a body heard or saw.
My Jockie toils upon the plain,
Thro’ wind and weet, thro’ frost and snaw:
And o’er the lea I leuk fu’ fain,
When Jockie’s owsen hameward ca’.
An’ aye the night comes round again,
When in his arms he taks me a’;
An’ aye he vows he’ll be my ain,
As lang’s he has a breath to draw.
Read all of Robert Burns's poems · About Robert Burns
More by Robert Burns
Write poetry? Submit your poem to Poetry Catalog