Bonnie May Wyllie cam' oot o' the toun
When the deein' sunlicht lay
On the lang green howms o' the windin' Nith,
An' on deep green wud an' brae.
It fell fu' saft on the auld castle wa'
At the fit o' Sanquhar toun,
As if blessin' the ruin, wi' unseen hands,
That time had tummeled doun.
It fell fu' saft on the Elwick wud,
Where, sweet an' lood an' lang,
The mavis sittin' a' by himsel'
Was singin' his ain sweet sang.
He sang fu' lood an' he sang fu' sweet,
An' his sang was unco fain,
That he started anither in Mennock Glen,
Wha answered him back again.
The licht lay sweet on howm an' brae,
An' ilka thing was braw;
But bonnie May Wyllie o' Sanquhar toun
Was the bonniest o' them a'.
But where is she gaun when the gloamin' rests
On the hill o' Knockenhair?
Is she gaun to look at the De'il's Big Stane,
Or juist to the Witches' Stair?
Wha sleeps, they say, by the Witches' Stair,
Dreams mony a strange, sweet dream,
When the mune comes up an' looks owre the trees,
An' Crawick begins to gleam.
Then the fairies wha bide by the side o' the burn,
Where the grass boos doon an' dips,
Come into the licht, an' they smile to fin'
The dew licht on their lips.
But bonnie May Wyllie still hauds her way,
Till she reaches the Laigh Wud En',
Then she turns, an' licht as a fairy hersel',
Gangs doon Crawick's bonnie glen.
O sweet is the glen in the simmer nicht,
When ilka thing is still,
Save Crawick wha's rowin' frae side to side,
An' singin' his ain sweet fill.
The primroses an' violets,
That were hid in the lang deep grass,
Cam' oot an' noddit their bonnie heids
To see May Wyllie pass.
The robin, thrang wi' his ain bit ways,
Lookit up wi' his bricht, bricht ee,
Then dookit his heid, an' wi' ae quick spring
Cam' a wee bit nearer to see.
He lookit fu' wistfu'-like at her,
An' his dark ee was bricht as a bead;
An' nearer he cam' as he'd fain alicht
On bonnie May Wyllie's heid.
An' she smiled to hersel' an' sang to hersel'
Till she cam' to the Witches' Stair;
Then she set her doon on the laighmost step,
An' her dreams were sweet an' fair.
The mune cam' up wi' a lichtsome grace,
An' her beams fell saft an' sweet,
An' ilka pool that they kissed became
As bricht as a silver sheet.
An' the murmurs grew saft an' safter still,
An' the win' could only stir,
A primrose that bonnie May Wyllie had touched,
It was looking up at her.