Bonny burd! aw'm fain to see thee,
For tha tells ov breeter weather;
But aw connot quite forgi thee,
Connot love thee altogether.

'Tisn't thee aw fondly welcome—
'Tis the cheerin news tha brings,
Tellin us fine weather will come,
When we see thi dappled wings.

But aw'd rayther have a sparrow,
Rayther hear a robin twitter;
Tho' they may net be thi marrow,
May net fly wi' sich a glitter;

But they niver leeav us, niver—
Storms may come, but still they stay;
But th' first wind 'at ma's thee shiver,
Up tha mounts an' flies away.

Ther's too mony like thee, swallow,
'At when fortun's sun shines breet,
Like a silly buzzard follow,
Doncin raand a bit o' leet.

But ther's few like Robin redbreast,
Cling throo days o' gloom an' care;
Soa aw love mi old tried friends best—
Fickle hearts aw'll freely spare.