BUT are ye sure the news is true?
And are ye sure he's weel?

Is this a time to think o' wark ?

Ye jades, fling by your wheel!

For there's nae luck about the house,
There's nae luck at a':

There's nae luck about the house,
When our gudeman's awa'.

Is this a time to think o' wark,
When Colin's at the door?
Rax down my cloak-I'll to the quay,
And see him come ashore.

Rise up, and make a clean fireside,

Put on the mickle pot;

Gie little Kate her cotton gown,
And Jock his Sunday coat.

Mak' a' their shoon as black as sloes, Their stockings white as snaw; It's a to pleasure our gudeman

He likes to see them braw.

THERE'S NAE LUCK ABOUT THE HOUSE.

There are twa hens into the crib

Hae fed this month or mair;

Mak' haste and thraw their necks about, That Colin weel may fare.

My Turkey slippers I'll put on,
My stockings pearl-blue,-
It's a' to pleasure our gudeman,

For he's baith leal and true.

Sae sweet his voice, sae smooth his tongue,

His breath's like cauler air;

I remember, I remember,

The roses, red and white,
The violets, and the lily-cups,

Those flowers made of light!
The lilacs where the robin built,
And where my brother set
The laburnum on his birth-day,--
The tree is living yet!

I remember, I remember,

Where I was used to swing,

And thought the air must rush as fresh

To swallows on the wing;

My spirit flew in feathers then,

That is so heavy now,

And summer pools could hardly cool

The fever on my brow!