WHAT ails this heart o' mine?

What ails this watery ee? What gars me a' turn pale as death When I take leave o' thee? When thou art far awa',

Thou 'lt dearer grow to me;

But change o' place and change o' folk May gar thy fancy jee.

When I gae out at e'en,

Or walk at morning air,

Ilk rustling bush will seem to say. I used to meet thee there.

And live aneath the tree, And when a leaf fa's i' my lap, I'll ca' 't a word frae thee.

Sounds in the chimney-top a doleful peal

The

To

ready group attendant on his word,

turn the swarth, the quivering load to rear,

Or ply the busy rake, the land to clear.

Summer's light garb itself now cumbrous grown,

Each his thin doublet in the shade throws down;

Where oft the mastiff skulks with half-shut eye,

And rouses at the stranger passing by;

Whilst unrestrained the social converse flows,

And every breast Love's powerful impulse knows,

And rival wits with more than rustic

late