Who are these coming to the sacrifice?

Who are these coming to the sacrifice?

To what green altar, O mysterious priest,

Lead'st thou that heifer lowing at the skies,

And all her silken flanks with garlands drest?

What little town by river or sea shore,

Or mountain-built with peaceful citadel,

Is emptied of this folk, this pious morn?

And, little town, thy streets for evermore

Will silent be; and not a soul to tell

Why thou art desolate, can e'er return.

Who hath not seen thee oft amid thy store?

Who hath not seen thee oft amid thy store?

Sometimes whoever seeks abroad may find

Thee sitting careless on a granary floor,

Thy hair soft-lifted by the winnowing wind;

Or on a half-reap'd furrow sound asleep,

Drows'd with the fume of poppies, while thy hook

Spares the next swath and all its twined flowers:

And sometimes like a gleaner thou dost keep

Steady thy laden head across a brook;

Or by a cyder-press, with patient look,

Thou watchest the last oozings hours by hours.

A flowery bank

Ye flowery banks o' bonie Doon,

How can ye blume so fair?

How can ye chant, ye little birds,

And I so full of care?

Thou'll break my heart, thou bonie bird,

That sings upon the bough:

Thou minds me o' the happy days

When my fause Love was true!

Thou'll break my heart, thou bonie bird,

That sings beside thy mate:

For so I sat, and so I sang,

And wist na o' my fate!

To see the woodbine twine,

And ilka bird sang o' its love,

And so did I o' mine.

With lightsome heart I pulled a rose

Free  off its thorny tree,

And my fause  lover staw my rose,

But left the thorn with' me.