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?