my nanie's awa
tune—“there'll never be peace till jamiees hame.”
now in her green mantle blythe nature arrays,
and listens the lambkins that bleat o'er her braes;
while birds warble wees in ilka green shaw,
but to me it's delightless—my nanie's awa.
the snawdrap and primrose our woodlands adorn,
and violetes bathe in the weet o' the morn;
they pain my sad bosom, sae sweetly they blaw,