but give me jeanie in my arms
and wee lapland's dreary sky!
o wat ye wha's, &c.
my cave wad be a lover's bower,
tho' raging winter rent the air;
and she a lovely little flower,
that i wad tent and shelter there.
o wat ye wha's, &c.
o sweet is she in yon town,
the sinkin, sun's gane down upon;
a fairer than's in yon town,
his setting beam ne'er shone upon.
o wat ye wha's, &c.
if angry fate is sworn my foe,
and suff'ring i am doom'd to bear;
i careless quit aught else below,
but spare, o spare me jeanie dear.
o wat ye wha's, &c.
for while life's dearest blood is warm,
ae thought frae her shall ne'er depart,
and she, as fairest is her form,
she has the truest, kindest heart.
o wat ye wha's, &c.