Grog/Lovely Jean

by Robert Burns (1759-1796)

For other versions of this work, see Of a' the Airts.

LOVELY JEAN.

Of a' the airts the wind can blaw,
I dearly like the west,
For there the bonnie lassie lives,
The lass that I loo best:
The' wild woods grow, and rivers row,
Wi' monie a hill between,
Baith day and night, my fancy's flight
Is ever wi' my Jean.

⟨I⟩ see her in the dewy flow'r,
Sae lovely, sweet and fair;
I hear her voice, in ilka bird,
Wi' music charm the air:
⟨There's⟩ not a bonnie flower that springs,
⟨By fountain⟩, shaw, or green,
⟨There's not⟩ a bonnie bird that sings,
But minds me o' my Jean.

Upon the banks o' flowing Clyde
The lasses busk them braw;
But when their best they hae put on,
My Jeanie dings them a';
In hamely weeds she far exceeds
The fairest o' the town;
Baith sage and gay confess it see,
Tho' drest in russet gown.

The gamesome lamb, that sucks its dam,
Mair harmless canna be;
She has nae faut, (if sic ye ca't,)
Except her love for me:
The sparkling dew, o' clearest hue,
Is like her shining een;
In shape and air, wha can compare
Wi' my sweet lovely Jean?

O blaw, ye westlin winds, blaw saft
Amang the leafy trees;
Wi' gentle gale, frae muir and dale,
Bring hame the laden bees,
And bring the lassie back to me
That's aye sae neat and clean;
Ae blink o' her wad banish care,
Sae lovely is my Jean.

What sighs and vows, amang the knows,
Hae past atween as twa,
How fain to meet, how wae to part
That day she gaed awa!
The powers aboon can only ken,
To whom the heart is seen,
That nane can be sae dear to me,
As my sweet lovely Jean.