THE CHARMS of MELODY, SONG 109

How blithe was I each morn to see My swain come o'er the hill! He leap'd the brook, and flew to me; I met him with good will: I neither wanted ewe nor lamb, When his flocks near me lay; He gather'd in my sheep at night, And cheer'd me all the day. Oh! the broom, the bonny broom, Where lost was my repose I wish I was with my dear swain, With his pipe and my ewes.

He tun'd his pipe and reed so sweet, The birds stood list'ning by; The fleecy flock stood still and gaz'd, Charm'd with his melody: While thus we spent our time, by turns, Betwixt our flocks and play, I envy'd not the fairest dame, Though e'er so rich and gay. Oh! the broom, &c.

He did oblige me ev'ry hour: Could I but faithful be? He stole my heart—could I refuse Whate'er he ask'd of me? Hard fate! that I must banish'd be Gang heavily and mourn, Because I lov'd the kindest swain That ever yet was born. Oh! the broom, &c.