Bonny burd! aw'm fain to see thee,
For tha tells ov breeter weather;
But aw connot quite forgie 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 nivver leeav us, nivver—
Storms may come, but still they stay;
But th' first wind 'at ma's thee shivver,
Up tha mounts an flies away.
Ther's too monny 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.