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| ’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 ev’ry glen the mavis sang, | 5 |
| All nature list’ning seem’d the while, | |
| Except where greenwood echoes rang, | |
| Amang the braes o’ Ballochmyle. | |
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| With careless step I onward stray’d, | |
| My heart rejoic’d in nature’s joy, | 10 |
| 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, | 15 |
| “Behold the lass o’ Ballochmyle!”“ | |
| |
| Fair is the morn in flowery May, | |
| And sweet is night in autumn mild; | |
| When roving thro’ the garden gay, | |
| Or wand’ring in the lonely wild: | 20 |
| But woman, nature’s darling child! | |
| There all her charms she does compile; | |
| Even there her other works are foil’d | |
| By the bonie lass o’ Ballochmyle. | |
| |
| O, had she been a country maid, | 25 |
| And I the happy country swain, | |
| Tho’ shelter’d in the lowest shed | |
| That ever rose on Scotland’s plain! | |
| Thro’ weary winter’s wind and rain, | |
| With joy, with rapture, I would toil; | 30 |
| And nightly to my bosom strain | |
| The bonie lass o’ Ballochmyle. | |
| |
| Then pride might climb the slipp’ry steep, | |
| Where frame and honours 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 ev’ry day have joys divine | |
| With the bonie lass o’ Ballochmyle. | 40 |
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