The Lang Winter E'en

Sweet summer 's awa, wi' her verdure sae fair;
The ance bonny woodlands are leafless an' bare;
To the cot wee robin returns for a screen
Frae the cauld stormy blast o' the lang winter e'en.

But charms there are still, though nature has nane,
When the hard rackin' toils o' the day by are gane,
Then round the fireside social hearts do convene,
And pleasantly pass the lang winter e'en.

O' warldly wealth I hae got little share,
Yet riches and wealth breed but sorrow and care;
Just gi'e me an hour wi' some auld honest frien',
To crack o'er youth's joys in the lang winter e'en.

The thochts o' our youth are lichtsome and dear,
Like the strains o' the lute they fa' saft on the ear,
But chiefly the bliss I ha'e shared wi' my Jean
In some love-screenin' shade on a lang winter e'en.