The Brig O' Glenairelie Poem by Alexander Anderson

I dream this nicht, an' my thochts gae back
To that happy time sae early,
When we twa stood in the simmer licht
On the narrow brig o' Glenairlie.
The mavis was thrang in the Eliock wuds,
An' O, he pipit rarely;
But sweeter than a', love sang to us twa,
On the narrow brig o' Glenairlie.


The Nith ran doon wi' a happy soun',
By the hazel bushes hingin',
Then slippit into a pool to hear
The rich, deep mavis-singin'.
The lilt that he sang in the Eliock wuds
Beat a' the ithers fairly;
But sweeter than a', love sang to us twa,
On the narrow brig o' Glenairlie.


The Nith still rins wi' the same low soun',
By the hazel bushes hingin';
The mavis still lilts in the Eliock wuds,
But we dinna heed his singin'.
But what wad we gie to hear ance mair
The sang we miss sae sairly;
That sweeter than a', love sang to us twa,
That day on the brig o' Glenairlie.