| |
| THOUGH siller Tweed rin o’er the lea, | |
| An’ dark the Dee ’mang Highland heather, | |
| Yet siller Tweed an’ drumly Dee | |
| Are not sae dear as Leven Water: | |
| When Nature formed our favorite isle, | 5 |
| An a’ her sweets began to scatter, | |
| She looked, with fond, approving smile, | |
| Alang the banks o’ Leven Water. | |
| |
| On flowery braes, at gloamin’ gray, | |
| ’T is sweet to scent the primrose springin’; | 10 |
| Or through the woodlands green to stray, | |
| In ilka buss the mavis singin’: | |
| But sweeter than the woodlands green, | |
| Or primrose painted fair by Nature, | |
| Is she wha smiles, a rural queen, | 15 |
| The bonny lass o’ Leven Water! | |
| |
| The sunbeam in the siller dew, | |
| That hangs upon the hawthorn’s blossom, | |
| Shines faint beside her e’en sae blue; | |
| An’ purer is her spotless bosom. | 20 |
| Her smile wad thaw a hermit’s breast; | |
| There ’s love an’ truth in ilka feature; | |
| For her I ’m past baith wark an’ rest, | |
| The bonny lass o’ Leven Water! | |
| |
| But I ’m a lad o’ laigh degree, | 25 |
| Her purse-proud daddy ’s dour an’ saucy; | |
| An’ sair the carle wad scowl on me, | |
| For speakin’ to his dawtit lassie: | |
| But were I laird o’ Leven’s glen, | |
| An’ she a humble shepherd’s daughter, | 30 |
| I ’d kneel, an’ court her for my ain, | |
| The bonny lass o’ Leven Water! | |
| |
