Rothesay Bay

Fu' yellow lie the corn-rigs
Far doun the braid hillside ;
It is the brawest harstfield
Alang the shores o' Clyde, —
And I'm a puir harst-lassie
Wha stands the lee-lang day
Shearing the corn-rigs of Ardbeg
Aboon sweet Rothesay Bay.

O I had ance a true love, —
Now, I hae nane ava ;
And I had three braw brithers,
But I hae tint them a' ;
My father and my mither
Sleep i' the mools this day,
I sit my lane amang the rigs
Aboon sweet Rothesay Bay,

It's a bonnie bay at morning,
And bonnier at the noon,
But it's bonniest when the sun draps
And red comes up the moon :
When the mist creeps o'er the Cumbrays,
And Arran peaks are grey,
And the great black hills, like sleepin' kings,
Sit grand roun' Rothesay Bay.

Then a bit sigh stirs my bosom,
And a saut tear blin's my e'e, —
And I think o' that far Countrie
Whaur I wad like to be!
But I rise content i' the morning,
To wark while wark I may,
I' the yellow harst-field of Ardbeg
Aboon sweet Rothesay Bay.