An' I canna thole the plough.

But by the doo'cot up the braes
There's nane frae me can steal
The blue sea an' the ocean haze
An' the ships I like sae weel.

The brigs ride oot past Ferryden
Ahint the girnin' tugs,
And the lasses wave to the Baltic men
Wi' the gowd rings i' their lugs.

My mither's sweir to let me gang.
My feyther gi'es me blame,
But youth is sair and life is lang
When yer he'rt's sae far frae hame.

But i' the doo'cot up the braes,
When a'tumn nichts are mirk,
I've hid my pennies an' my claes
An' the Buik I read at kirk,

An' come ae nicht when a' fowks sleep,
I'll lift them whaur they lie,
An' to the harbour-side I'll creep
I' the dim licht o' the sky;

An' when the eastern blink grows wide,
An' dark still smoors the west,
A Baltic brig will tak' the tide