Bonny burd! aw'm fain to see thee,
For tha tells ov breeter weather;
But aw connot quite forgi thee,
Connot love thee altogether.
'Tisn't thee aw fondly welcome--
'Tis the cheerin news tha brings,
Tellin us fine weather will come,
When we see thi dappled wings.
But aw'd rayther have a sparrow,
Rayther hear a robin twitter;
Tho' they may net be thi marrow,
May net fly wi' sich a glitter;
But they niver leeav us, niver--
Storms may come, but still they stay;
But th' first wind 'at ma's thee shiver,
Up tha mounts an' flies away.
Ther's too mony like thee, swallow,
'At when fortun's sun shines breet,
Like a silly buzzard follow,
Doncin raand a bit o' leet.
But ther's few like Robin redbreast,
Cling throo days o' gloom an' care;
Soa aw love mi old tried friends best--
Fickle hearts aw'll freely spare.