Rothesay Bay Fu' yellow lie the corn-rigs Far down the braid hillside; It is the brawest harst field Alang the shores o' Clyde, And I'm a puir harst lassie Wha stands the lee lang day Amang the corn-rigs of Ardbeg Aboon sweet Rothesay Bay. I had ance a true love, Now I hae nane ava; And I had three braw brithers, But I hae tint them a': My father and my mither Sleep i' the mools this day; I sit my lane amang the rigs Aboon sweet Rothesay Bay. It's a bonnie bay at morning, And bonnier at the noon, But bonniest when the sun draps, And red comes up the moon; When the mist creeps o'er the Cumbraes, And Arran peaks are gray, And the great black hills, like sleepin' kings, Sit grand roun' Rothesay Bay. Then a bit sigh stirs my bosom, And a wee tear blin's my e'e, And I think of that far countrie Wha' I wad like to be! But I rise content i' the morning To wark, whilst wark I may, I' the yellow harst field of Ardbeg Aboon sweet Rothesay Bay. WH oct99
Thanks to Mudcat for the Digital Tradition!