O ALEC, up at Soutar's ferm,
You, that's sae licht o hert,
I ken ye passin by the tune
Ye whustle i' the cairt;
I hear the rowin o the wheels,
The clink o haims an chain,
An set abuin yer stampin team
I see ye sit yer lane.
Ilk morn, agin the kindlin sky
Yer liftit heid is black,
Ilk nicht I watch ye hameward ride
Wi the sunset at yer back.
For wark's yer meat an wark's yer play,
Heid horseman tho ye be,
Ye've ne'er a glance for wife nor maid,
Ye tak nae tent o me.
An man, ye'll no suspeck the truith,
Tho weel I ken it's true,
There's mony ane that trails in silk
Wha fain wad gang wi you.
But I am juist a sairvin lass,
Wha toils to get her breid,
An O! ye're sweir to see the gowd
I braid aboot my heid.
My cheek is like the brier rose,
That scents the simmer wind,
An fine I'd keep the wee bit hoose,
'gin I'd a man to mind!
It's sair to see, when ilka lad
Is dreamin o his joe,
The bonnie mear that leads yer team
Is a' ye're thinkin o.
Like fire upon her satin coat
Ye gar the hairness shine,
But, lad, there is a safter licht
In thae twa een o mine!
Aye-wark yer best-but youth is short,
An shorter ilka year-
There's ane wad gar ye suin forget
Yon limmer o a mear!