I ’ve wandered east, I ’ve wandered west,
  Through mony a weary way;
But never, never can forget
  The luve o’ life’s young day!
The fire that ’s blawn on Beltane e’en
  May weel be black gin Yule;
But blacker fa’ awaits the heart
  Where first fond luve grows cule.

O dear, dear Jeanie Morrison,
  The thochts o’ bygane...