The poem
YOUNG JAMIE, pride of a’ the plain, Sae gallant and sae gay a swain, Thro’ a’ our lasses he did rove, And reign’d resistless King of Love.
But now, wi’ sighs and starting tears, He strays amang the woods and breirs; Or in the glens and rocky caves, His sad complaining dowie raves:—
“I wha sae late did range and rove, And chang’d with every moon my love, I little thought the time was near, Repentance I should buy sae dear.
“The slighted maids my torments see, And laugh at a’ the pangs I dree; While she, my cruel, scornful Fair, Forbids me e’er to see her mair.”