Classic Poem

There 's a yellow thread in the Gordon plaid,
But it binds na my love an' me;
And the ivy leaf has brought dool and grief
Where there never but love should be.

For my lad would 'list, when a Duchess kiss't
He forgot a' the vows he made;
And he turned and took but ae lang, last look,
When the " Cock o' the North" was played.

O, her een were bright, an' her teeth were white
As the silver they held between;
But the lips he pree'd, were they half as sweet
As he vow'd 'at mine were yestreen?

A poor country lass, 'mang the dewy grass,
May hae whiles to kilt up her goon;
But a lady hie sae to show her knee,
And to dance in a boro' toon!

Gin I were the Duke, I could nae mair look
Wi' love on my high-born dame;
At a kilt or plaid I would hang my head,
And think aye on my lady 's shame.

By my leefu' lane I sit morn an' e'en,
Prayin' aye for him back to me;
For now he 's awa' I forgie him a'
Save the kiss he was 'listed wi'.