192 
THE LOVER’S OFFERING, 
He took its azure from the sky: 
It is the hue of constancy, 
And constant should our faith be; 
With that he mingled splendid gold, 
To show that if our faith we hold, 
We shall be crowned with glory. 
My love—if God within our bower, 
Should plant this lovely little flower, 
To tend it be our duty; 
Then should there be a smile or tear, 
So it be mutual, it will rear 
And maturate its beauty. 
DEAR TO ME. 
O dearest love, wipe off the tear 
That dims your bonny e’e; 
Though friends may leave, ye need na’ grieve, 
While I am true to thee. 
Though a’ depart, my constant heart, 
Will aye remain to cheer ; 
Then calm your fears, and dry your tears, 
For thou to me art dear. 
When flowers are cast, by winter’s blast 
A’ withered o’er the lea, 
Come to my plaid, and lay ’your head, 
Where nane can injure thee. 
