'The hunter lo'es the morning sun,
To rouse the mountain-deer, my jo;
At noon the fisher seeks the glen,
Along the burn to steer, my jo;
Give me the hour o' gloamin gray,
It maks my heart sae cheerie O,
To meet thee on the lea-rig,
My ain kind dearie O.
"Twas even-the dewy fields were green,
On every blade the pearls hang;
The zephyr wanton'd round the bean,
And bore its fragrant sweets alang:
In every glen the mavis sang,
All nature list'ning secm'd the while,
Except where greenwood echoes rang,
Amang the braes o' Ballochmyle.
With careless step I onward stray'd,
My heart rejoic'd in nature's joy,
When musing in a lonely glade,
A maiden fair I chanc'd to spy;
Her look was like the morning's eye,
Her air like nature's vernal smile,
Perfection whisper'd, passing by,
Behold the lass o' Ballochmyle!
Fair is the morning in flowery May,
And sweet is night in Autumn mild
When roving thro' the garden gay,
Or wand'ring in the lonely wild:
But woman, nature's darling child!
There all her charms she does compile;
Ev'n there her other works are foil'd
By the bonie lass o' Ballochmyle.
O, had she been a country maid,
And I the happy country swain,
Tho' shelter'd in the lowest shed
That ever rose in Scotland's plain!
Thro' weary winter's wind and rain
With joy, with rapture, I would toil:
And nightly to my bosom strain
The bonie lass o' Ballochmyle.
Then pride might climb the slipp'ry steep,
Where fame and honours lofty shine:
And thirst of gold might tempt the deep,
Or downward seek the Indian mine;
Give me the cot below the pine,
To tend the flocks, or till the soil,
And every day have joys divine,
Wi' the bonie lass o' Ballochmyle.
O SAW ye bonie Lesley
As she gaed o'er the border?
She's gane, like Alexander,
To spread her conquests farther.
To see her is to love her,
And love but her for ever:
For Nature made her what she is,
And ne'er made sic anither!
Thou art a queen, fair Lesley,
Thy subjects we, before thee;
Thou art divine, fair Lesley,
The hearts o' men adore thee.
The Deil he could na scaith thee,
Or aught that wad belang thee:
He'd look into thy bonie face,
And say, "I canna wrang thee."
The Powers aboon will tent thee;
Misfortune sha' na steer thee;
Thou'rt like themselves, sae lovely,
That ill they'll ne'er let near thee.
Return again, fair Lesley,
Return to Caledonie !
That we may brag we hae a lass
There's nane again sae bonie.
THERE was a lass, and she was fa r
At kirk and market to be seen,
When a' the fairest maids were met,
The fairest maid was bonie Jean.
And ay she wrought her mammie's wark,
And ay she sang sae merrilie;
The blithest bird upon the bush
Had ne'er a lighter heart than sile.
But hawks will rob the tender joys
That bless the little lintwhite's nest;
And frost will blight the fairest flowers,
And love will break the soundest rest.
Young Robie was the brawest lad,
The ficwer and pride of a' the glen;
And he had owsen, sheep, and kye,
And wanton naigies nine or ten.
He gaed wi' Jeanie to the tryste,
He danc'd wi' Jeanie on the down;
And lang ere witless Jeanie wist,
Her heart was tint, her peace was stown.
As in the bosom o' the stream,
The moon-beam dwcils at dewy e'en;
So trembling, pure, was tender love,
Within the breast o' bonie Jean.
And now she works her mammie's wark,
And ay she sighs wi' care and pain;
Yet wist na what her ail might be,
Or what wad mak her weel again.
-But did na Jeanie's heart loup light,
And did na joy blink in her e'e,
As Robie tauld a tale o' love,
An e'enin on the lily lea?
The sun was sinking in the west,
The birds sang sweet in ilka grove:
His cheek to her's he fondly prest,
And whisper'd thus his tale o' love.
O Jeanie fair, I lo'e thee dear;
O canst thou think to fancy me?
Or wilt thou leave thy mammie's cot,
And learn to tent the farms wi' me?
At barn or byre thou shalt na drudge,
Or naething else to trouble thee;
But stray amang the heather-bells,
And tent the waving corn wi' me.
Now what could artless Jeanie do ?
She had na will to say him na:
At length she blush'd a sweet consent,
And love was ay between them twa.
COME, let me take thee to my breast,
And pledge we ne'er shall sunder;
And I shall spurn, as vilest dust,
The warld's wealth and grandeur !
And do I hear my Jeanie own,
That equal transports move her ?
I ask for dearest life alone
That may I live to love her.
Thus in my arms, wi' all thy charms,
I clasp my countless treasure ;
I'll seek nae mair o' heaven to share,
That sic a moment's pleasure:
And by thy e'en, sae bonie blue,
I swear I'm thine for ever:
And on thy lips I seal my vow,
And break it shall I never.
Now rosy May comes in wi' flowers,
To deck her gay, green-spreading bowery;
And now comes in my happy hours,
To wander wi' my Davie.
Meet me on the warlock knowe,
Dainty Davie, dainty Davie,
There I'll spend the day wi' you,
My ain dear dainty Davie.
The crystal waters round us fa',
The merry birds are lovers a',
The scented breezes round us blaw,
A-wandering wi' my Davie.
Meet me, &c.
When purple morning starts the hare,
To steal upon her early fare,
Then thro' the dews I will repair,
To meet my faithfu' Davie.
Meet me, &c.
When day, expiring in the west,
The curtain draws o' Nature's rest,
I flee to his arms I lo'e best,
And that's my ain dear Davie.
Meet me on the warlock knowe,
Bonie Davic, dainty Davie,
There I'll spend the day wi' you,
My ain dear dainty Davie.
Tune "The Quaker's wife."
THINE am I, my faithful fair,
Thine, my lovely Nancy;
Ev'ry pulse along my veins,
Ev'ry roving fancy.
To thy bosom lay my heart,
There to throb and languish:
Tho' despair had wrung its core,
That would heal its anguish.
Take away those rosy lips,
Rich with balmy treasure;
Turn away thine eyes of love
Lest I die with pleasure.
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