The poem
YOUNG Jockie was the blythest lad, In a’ our town or here awa; Fu’ blythe he whistled at the gaud, Fu’ lightly danc’d he in the ha’.
He roos’d my een sae bonie blue, He roos’d my waist sae genty sma’; An’ aye my heart cam to my mou’, When ne’er a body heard or saw.
My Jockie toils upon the plain, Thro’ wind and weet, thro’ frost and snaw: And o’er the lea I leuk fu’ fain, When Jockie’s owsen hameward ca’.
An’ aye the night comes round again, When in his arms he taks me a’; An’ aye he vows he’ll be my ain, As lang’s he has a breath to draw.