By William late offended
I blam'd him, I allow
And then my anger ended
And he is angry now
And I in turn am chided
For what I ne’er design'd;
And tho'by love misguided
Am call’d myself unkind

So now, when I am nigh him
My looks must coldness wear;
They tell me I must fly him
At market and at fair;
Nor near the thorn-tree meet him
At evening, I suppose
Nor in the morning greet him
As by the door he goes

Nor at the kirk perceive him
But ponder on my book;
With downcast eyes deceive him
Tho' stealing oft a look
Alas! How long must nature
This cruel war maintain?
Content in every feature
While writhes my heart with pain?
O William, dost thou love me?
Oh! Sure I need not fear;
How, dearest, would it move thee
To see this falling tear!
Too heedless, thoughtless lover
From what thyself must feel
Why canst thou not discover
What Jeanie must conceal?