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O had she been the country maid,
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;
And nightly to my bosom strain
The bonnie lass o’ Ballochmyle.
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;
And nightly to my bosom strain
The bonnie lass o’ Ballochmyle.
Then pride might climb the slippery steep,
Where fame and honours lofty shine;
And thirst of gold might tempt the deep,
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
Wi’ the bonnie lass o’ Ballochmyle.
Where fame and honours lofty shine;
And thirst of gold might tempt the deep,
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
Wi’ the bonnie lass o’ Ballochmyle.
FAIREST OF THE FAIR
O Nannie, wilt thou gang wi' me,
Nor sigh to leave the flaunting town;
Can silent glens have charms for thee,
The low y cut and russet gown?
Nae langer drest in silken sheen,
Nae langer decked wi' jewels rare,
Nor sigh to leave the flaunting town;
Can silent glens have charms for thee,
The low y cut and russet gown?
Nae langer drest in silken sheen,
Nae langer decked wi' jewels rare,
