The Scottish songs - National Library of Scotland

436
But still'd maun be the pulse that wakes this glowing
heart of mine,
or me nae mair the spring maun bud, nor summer
blossoms shine,
And low maun be my hame, sweet maid, ere I be false
to thee,
Or forget the vows I breathed beneath the, hawthorn
tree.
THE POETS, WHAT FOOLS THEY'RE
TO DEAVE US.
ROBERT GILFILLAN.
Tune—Fy^ let us a' to the bridal.
The poets, what fools they're to deave us,
How ilka ane's lassie's sae fine ;
The tane is an angel—and, save us I
The neist ane you meet wi's divine !
And then there's a lang-nebbit sonnet,
Be't Katie, or Janet, or Jean
And the moon, or some far-awa planet's
Compared to the blink o' her een.
The earth an' the sea they've ransackit
For sim'lies to set off their charms ;
And no a wee flow'r hut's attackit
By poets, like bumbees, in swarms.
Now, what signifies a' this clatter.
By chiels that the truth winna tell ?
Wad it no be settlin' the matter.
To say, Lass, ye're just like your sell ?
An' then there's nae end to the evil.
For they are no deaf to the din
;
—
That like me ony puir luckless deevil
Daur scarce look the gate they are in I