My father couldna work, and my mother couldna spin; I toiled day and night, but their bread I couldna win; Auld Rob maintained them baith, and wi' tears in his e'e Said, 'Jennie, for their sakes, O, marry me!' My heart it said nay; I looked for Jamie back; But the wind it blew high, and the ship it was a wrack; His ship it was a wrack--Why didna Jamie dee? Or why do I live to cry, Wae's me! My father urged me sair: my mother didna speak; But she looked in my face till my heart was like to break: They gi'ed him my hand, though my heart was in the sea; Sae auld Robin Gray he was gudeman to me. I hadna been a wife a week but only four, When mournfu' as I sat on the stane at the door, I saw my Jamie's wraith,--for I couldna think it he, Till he said, 'I'm come hame to marry thee.' O sair, sair did we greet, and muckle did we say; We took but ae kiss, and we tore ourselves away; I wish that I were dead, but I'm no like to dee; And why was I born to say, Wae's me! I gang like a ghaist, and I carena to spin; I daurna think on Jamie, for that wad be a sin; But I'll do my best a gude wife aye to be, For auld Robin Gray he is kind unto me. * * * * * JEAN ADAMS THERE'S NAE LUCK ABOUT THE HOUSE And are ye sure the news is true, And are ye sure he's weel? Is this a time to think of wark? Ye jauds, fling by your wheel. Is this the time to think of wark, When Colin's at the door? Gi'e me my cloak! I'll to the quay And see him come ashore. For there's nae luck about the house, There's nae luck ava; There's little pleasure in the house, When our gudeman's awa'. Rise up and mak' a clean fireside; Put on the muckle pot; Gi'e little Kate her cotton gown, And Jock his Sunday coat: And mak' their shoon as black as slaes, Their hose as white as snaw; It's a' to please my ain gudeman, For he's been long awa'. There's twa fat hens upon the bauk, Been fed this month and mair; Mak' haste and thraw their necks about, That Colin weel may fare; And mak' the table neat and clean, Gar ilka thing look braw; It's a' for love of my gudeman, For he's been long awa'. O gi'e me down my bigonet, My bishop satin gown, For I maun tell the bailie's wife That Colin's come to town. My Sunday's shoon they maun gae on, My hose o' pearl blue; 'Tis a' to please my ain gudeman, For he's baith leal and true. Sae true his words, sae smooth his speech, His breath's like caller air! His very foot has music in't, As he comes up the stair. And will I see his face again? And will I hear him speak? I'm downright dizzy with the thought,-- In troth, I'm like to greet.