Digital Tradition Mirror

Rothesay Bay

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.


Thanks to Mudcat for the Digital Tradition!

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