Auld Rob Morris [Italian translation]

There's Auld Rob Morris

that wons in yon glen,

He's the King o' gude fellows,

and wale o' auld men;

He has gowd in his coffers,

he has owsen and kine,

And ae bonie lass,

his dautie and mine.

She's fresh as the morning,

the fairest in May;

She's sweet as the ev'ning

amang the new hay;

As blythe and as artless

as the lambs on the lea,

And dear to my heart

as the light to my e'e.

But oh! she's an Heiress,

auld Robin's a laird,

And my daddie has nought

but a cot-house and yard;

A wooer like me maunna

hope to come speed,

The wounds I must hide

that will soon be my dead.

The day comes to me,

but delight brings me nane;

The night comes to me,

but my rest it is gane;

I wander my lane l

ike a night-troubled ghaist,

And I sigh as my heart

it wad burst in my breast. 

O had she but been

of a lower degree,

I then might hae hop'd

she wad smil'd upon me!

O how past descriving

had then been my bliss,

As now my distraction

nae words can express.