O whaur gat ye that manly bairn?
I ance had ane his marrow,
Wha was to me a heavenly stern,
Amid my nicht o' sorrow.
Nae ferlie that I lo'e your wean,
An' o' his sweets envy ye,
For my poor heart sae sad and lane,
Grows glad when I am nigh ye.

My boy was fair, my boy was brave,
Wi' yellow ringlets flowing;
But now he sleeps in yon cauld grave,
Sweet flow'rets o'er him growing.
When his dear father joined the blest,
I fain wad hae gane wi' him:
But that dear laddie at my breast,
I couldna gang an' lea' him.

My laddie grew, he better grew,
Nae marrow had he growin',
Till ae snell blast that on us blew,
Set my sweet bud a dowin'.
But aye as slowly dowed the rind,
The core it grew the dearer,
And aye as his frail body dwined,
His mind it glinted clearer.

O bricht, bricht shone his sparklin' ee —
His cheek the pillow pressin';
He cast his last sad glance on me —
" Dear mother, tak my blessin'."
Then oh! the childless heart forgi'e,
That canna but envy ye,
O, that sweet bairn wha smiles on me,
An' gaurs me linger by ye.