| |
| ’T WAS even,—the dewy fields were green, | |
| On every blade the pearls hang! | |
| The Zephyr wantoned round the bean, | |
| And bore its fragrant sweets alang; | |
| In every glen the mavis sang, | 5 |
| All Nature listening seemed the while, | |
| Except where greenwood echoes rang, | |
| Amang the braes o’ Ballochmyle. | |
| |
| With careless step I onward strayed, | |
| My heart rejoiced in Nature’s joy, | 10 |
| When, musing in a lonely glade, | |
| A maiden fair I chanced to spy. | |
| Her look was like the morning’s eye, | |
| Her air like Nature’s vernal smile; | |
| Perfection whispered, passing by, | 15 |
| Behold the lass o’ Ballochmyle! | |
| |
| Fair is the morn in flowery May, | |
| And sweet is night in autumn mild, | |
| When roving through the garden gay, | |
| Or wandering in the lonely wild: | 20 |
| But woman, Nature’s darling child! | |
| There all her charms she does compile; | |
| Even there her other works are foiled | |
| By the bonnie lass o’ Ballochmyle. | |
| |
| O, had she been a country maid, | 25 |
| And I the happy country swain, | |
| Though sheltered in the lowest shed | |
| That ever rose on Scotland’s plain, | |
| Through weary winter’s wind and rain, | |
| With joy, with rapture, I would toil, | 30 |
| And nightly to my bosom strain | |
| The bonnie lass o’ Ballochmyle. | |
| |
| Then pride might climb the slippery steep, | |
| Where fame and honors lofty shine; | |
| And thirst of gold might tempt the deep, | 35 |
| Or downward seek the Indian mine; | |
| Give me the cot below the pine, | |
| To tend the flocks or till the soil, | |
| And every day has joys divine | |
| With the bonnie lass o’ Ballochmyle. | 40 |
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