O Alec, up at Soutar's fairm,
You, that's sae licht o' he'rt,
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,
And set abune 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 and 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 suspec' the truth,
Tho' weel I ken it's true,
There's mony ane that trails in silk
Wha fain wad gang wi' you.
But I am just a serving lass,
Wha toils to get her breid,
An' O! ye're sweir to see the gowd
I braid about 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 harness 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 sune forget
Yon limmer o' a mear!