We stand by the brook, by the gate, and the stile, While the even star hangs out his lamp in the sky; And on her calm face dwells a sweet sunny smile, While her soul fondly speaks through the light of her eye. Sweet are the moments while waiting for Jane; 'T is her footsteps I hear coming down the green lane. ADIEU! "Adieu, my love, adieu! Be constant and be true As the daisies gemmed with dew, Bonny maid." The cows their thirst were slaking, Trees the playful winds were shaking; Sweet songs the birds were making In the shade. The moss upon the tree Was as green as green could be, The clover on the lea Ruddy glowed; Leaves were silver with the dew, Where the tall sowthistles grew, And I bade the maid adieu On the road. Then I took myself to sea, While the little chiming bee Sung his ballad on the lea, Humming sweet; And the red-winged butterfly Was sailing through the sky, Skimming up and bouncing by Near my feet. I left the little birds, And sweet lowing of the herds, And couldn't find out words, Do you see, To say to them good bye, Where the yellow cups do lie; So heaving a deep sigh, Took to sea. MY BONNY ALICE AND HER PITCHER There's a bonny place in Scotland, Where a little spring is found; There Nature shows her honest face The whole year round. Where the whitethorn branches, full of may, Hung near the fountain's rim, Where comes sweet Alice every day And dips her pitcher in; A gallon pitcher without ear, She fills it with the water clear. My bonny Alice she is fair; There's no such other to be found. Her rosy cheek and dark brown hair-- The fairest maid on Scotland's ground. And there the heather's pinhead flowers All blossom over bank and brae, While Alice passes by the bowers To fill her pitcher every day; The pitcher brown without an ear She dips into the fountain clear. O Alice, bonny, sweet, and fair, With roses on her cheeks! The little birds come drinking there, The throstle almost speaks. He dips his wings and wimples makes Upon the fountain clear, Then vanishes among the brakes For ever singing near; While Alice, listening, stands to hear, And dips her pitcher without ear. O Alice, bonny Alice, fair, Thy pleasant face I love; Thy red-rose cheek, thy dark brown hair, Thy soft eyes, like a dove. I see thee by the fountain stand, With the sweet smiling face; There's not a maid in all the land With such bewitching grace As Alice, who is drawing near, To dip the pitcher without ear. THE MAIDEN I LOVE