Cauld Frosty Morning

Available for over a year

'Twas past ane o'clock in a cauld frosty morning, When cankert November blaws over the plain, I heard the kirk-bell repeat the loud warning, As, restless, I sought for sweet slumber in vain: Then up I arose, the silver moon shining bright; Mountains and valleys appearing all hoary white; Forth I would go, amid the pale, silent night, And visit the Fair One, the cause of my pain. Sae gently I staw to my lovely Maid's chamber, And rapp'd at her window, low down on my knee; Begging that she would awauk from sweet slumber, Awauk from sweet slumber and pity me: For, that a stranger to a' pleasure, peace and rest, Love into madness had fired my tortur'd breast; And that I should be of a' men the maist unblest, Unless she would pity my sad miserie! My True-love arose and whispered to me, (The moon looked in, and envy'd my Love's charms;) 'An innocent Maiden, ah, would you undo me!' I made no reply, but leapt into her arms: Bright Phebus peep'd over the hills and found me there; As he has done, now, seven lang years and mair: A faithfuller, constanter, kinder, more loving Pair, His sweet-chearing beam nor enlightens nor warms.