THE MAVIE IN THE CROFT
Ilka bonnie morn, bricht and fair,
When fresh and caller is the air,
When birds are piping thro’ the sky,
When the cairts and cabs are whirling by,
When the clattering tramp o’ feet
Soun’s ower ilka causey street,
Spite a’ the soun’s that rise aloft,
I hear the mavie in the Croft.
Ilka bonnie morn, bricht and clear,
The birdie’s sang ye aye can hear;
When the chiming loudly ring,
Ye aye can hear the birdie sing.
Ye chiels wha never heard its tune,
It’s worth yer while tae dauner roon;
Ye music critics faur and near,
The birdies sang should come tae hear.
