What tho', like Commoners of air,
We wander out, we know not where,
But either house or hal'?
Yet Nature's charms, the hills and woods,
The sweeping vales, and foaming floods,
Are free alike to all.
In days when Daisies deck the ground,
And Blackbirds whistle clear,
With honest joy, our hearts will bound,
To see the coming year:
On braes when we please then,
We'll sit and sowth a tune;
Syne rhyme till't, well time till't,
And sing't when we hae done.