Poetry Archives

Whan Andrew frae Strathbogie gaed
  The lift was lowerin dreary,
The sun he wadna raise his heid,
  The win’ blew laich and eerie.
In’s pooch he had a plack or twa—
  I vow he hadna mony,
Yet Andrew like a linty sang,
  For Lizzie was sae bonny!
    O Lizzie, Lizzie, bonny lassie!
    Bonny, saucy hizzy!
    What richt had ye to luik at me
    And drive me daft and dizzy?

Whan Andrew to Strathbogie cam
  The sun was shinin rarely;
He rade a horse that pranced and sprang—
  I vow he sat him fairly!
And he had gowd to spen’ and spare,
  And a hert as true as ony;
But his luik was doon, his sigh was sair,
  For Lizzie was sae bonny!
    O Lizzie, Lizzie, bonny hizzy!
    Aih, the sunlicht weary!
    Ye’re straucht and rare—ye’re fause though fair!—
    Hech, auld John Armstrong’s deary!