The Flowers O' The Forest.

I've seen the morning
With gold the hills adorning,
And the loud tempest roaring before parting day;
I've seen Tweed's silver stream,
Glitt'ring in the sunny beam,
Grow drumly and dark as it roll'd on its way.

Oh, fickle Fortune,
Why this cruel sporting?
Oh, why still perplex us, puir sons of a day?
Thy frown cannot fear me,
Thy smile caanot cheer me,—
Since the Flowers o' the Forest are a' wede away