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,
All nature list’ning seem’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
Perfection whisper’d, passing
“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
But woman, nature’s darling child!
There all her charms she does
Even there her other works are foil’d
By the bonie lass o’ Ballochmyle!
O, had she been a
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
With joy, with rapture, I would
And nightly to my bosom strain
The bonie lass o’ Ballochmyle.
Then pride might climb the
Where frame and honours lofty shine;
And thirst of gold might tempt
Or downward seek the Indian
Give me the cot below the pine,
To tend the flocks or till the
And ev’ry day have joys divine
With the bonie lass o’