The Shepherd To His Love

Abune the hill ae muckle star is burnin',         Sae saft an' still, my dear, sae far awa,     There's ne'er a wind, noo day to nicht is turnin',         To lift the brainches o' the whisperin' shaw;      Aye, Jess, there's nane to see,      There's just the sheep an' me,     And ane's fair wastit when there micht be twa!     Alang the knowes there's no a beast that's movin',         They sheep o' mine lie sleepin' i' the dew;     There's jist ae thing that's wearyin' an' rovin',         An' that's mysel', that wearies, wantin' you.      What ails ye, that ye bide      In-by - an' me ootside     To curse an' daunder a' the gloamin' through?     To haud my tongue an' aye hae patience wi' ye         Is waur nor what a lass like you can guess;     For a' yer pranks I canna but forgi'e ye,         I'fegs! there's naucht can gar me lo'e ye less;      Heaven's i' yer een, an' whiles      There's heaven i' yer smiles,     But oh! ye tak' a deal o' courtin', Jess!