| Standard English Translation |
LOGAN BRAES | LOGAN HILLSIDES |
| |
O Logan, sweetly didst thou glide, | O Logan, sweetly did you glide |
That day I was my Willie's bride, | That day I was my Willie's bride, |
And years sin syne hae o'er us run, | And years since then have over us run |
Like Logan to the simmer sun: | Like Logan to the summer sun. |
But now thy flowery banks appear | But now your flowery banks appear |
Like drumlie Winter, dark and drear, | Like dull winter, dark and dreary, |
While my dear lad maun face his faes, | While my dear lad must face his foes |
Far, far frae me and Logan braes. | Far, far from me and Logan hillsides |
| |
Again the merry month of May | Again the merry month of May |
Has made our hills and valleys gay; | Has made our hills and valleys gay; |
The birds rejoice in leafy bowers, | The birds rejoice in leafy bowers, |
The bees hum round the breathing flowers; | The bees hum round the breathing flowers; |
Blythe Morning lifts his rosy eye, | Blythe Morning lifts his rosy eye, |
And Evening's tears are tears o' joy: | And Evening tears are tears of joy: |
My soul, delightless a' surveys, | My soul with no delight all surveys, |
While Willie's far frae Logan braes. | While Willie is far from Logan hillsides |
| |
Within yon milk-white hawthorn bush, | Within yonder milk-white hawthorn bush, |
Amang her nestlings sits the thrush: | Among her nestlings sits the thrush: |
Her faithfu' mate will share her toil, | Her faithful mate will share her toil, |
Or wi' his song her cares beguile; | Or with his song her cares beguile. |
But I wi' my sweet nurslings here, | But I with my sweet nurslings here, |
Nae mate to help, nae mate to cheer, | No mate to help, no mate to cheer, |
Pass widow'd nights and joyless days, | Pass widowed nights and joyless days, |
While Willie's far frae Logan braes. | While Willie is far from Logan hillsides |
| |
O wae be to you, Men o' State, | O, woe upon you, Men of State, |
That brethren rouse to deadly hate! | That brethren rouse in deadly hate! |
As ye make mony a fond heart mourn, | As you make many a fond heart mourn, |
Sae may it on your heads return! | So may it on your heads return! |
How can your flinty hearts enjoy | You remember not amid your cruel joys |
The widow's tear, the orphan's cry? | The widow's tears, the orphan's cries; |
But soon may peace bring happy days, | But soon may peace bring happy days, |
And Willie hame to Logan braes! | And Willie home to Logan hillsides! |