O Sandy, why leav'st thou thy Nelly to mourn?
  Thy presence could ease me,
  When naething can please me:
Now dowie I sigh on the bank of the burn,
Or thro' the wood, laddie, until thou return

Tho' woods now are bonny, and mornings are clear,
  While lav'rocks are singing,
  And primroses springing;
Yet nane of them pleases my eye or my ear
When thro' the wood, laddie, ye dinna appear.

 ... 

Then stay, my dear Sandy, nae langer away,
  But quick as an arrow,
  Hast here to thy marrow,
Wha's living in languor till that happy day,
When thro' the wood, laddie, we'll dance, sing, and play.