The mornin' clud is tasselt wi' gowd,
Like my luve's broider'd cap;
And on the mantle that my luve wears,
Is mony a gowden drap.
Her bonnie ee-bree's a holy arch,
Cast by nae earthly han',
And the breath o' heaven is atween the lips
O' my bonnie Lady Ann.
I wonderin' gaze on her stately steps,
And I beet a hopeless flame!
To my luve, alas! she maunna stoop;
It wad stain her honour'd name.
My een are bauld, they dwall on a place
Where I daurna mint my han';
But I water, and tend, and kiss the flowers
O' my bonnie Lady Ann.
I am but her father's gardener lad,
And puir puir is my fa',
My auld mither gets my wee wee fee,
Wi' fatherless bairnies twa.
My lady comes, my lady gaes,
Wi' a fou and kindly han';
O, the blessin' o' God maun mix wi' my love,
And fa' on Lady Ann.
Sae flaxen were her ringlets.
[This was one of Burns's finest contributions to George Thomson's collection. The "Chloris" here celebrated was Jean Lorimer of Craigieburn, in Dumfries-shire, who was also the heroine of "Lassie wi' the Lint-white Locks," and other songs. The description is said to have been true to her appearance. She was unfortunate in life, and died so recently as 1831. The air of the song is Irish, and called Oonagh.]
Sae flaxen were her ringlets,
Her eyebrows of a darker hue,
Bewitchingly o'erarching
Twa laughing een o' bonnie blue.
Her smiling, sae wyling,
Wad mak' a wretch forget his woe;
What pleasure, what treasure,
Unto those rosy lips to grow!
Such was my Chloris' bonnie face,
When first her bonnie face I saw;
And, aye my Chloris' dearest charm,
She says she lo'es me best of a'.
Like harmony her motion;
Her pretty ankle is a spy,
Betraying fair proportion,
Wad mak' a saint forget the sky.
Sae warming, sae charming,
Her faultless form and gracefu air;
Ilk feature—auld nature
Declared that she could do nae mair.
Hers are the willing chains o' love,
By conquering beauty's sovereign law;
And, aye my Chloris' dearest charm,
She says she lo'es me best of a'.
Let others love the city,
And gaudy show at sunny noon;
Gi'e me the lonely valley,
The dewy eve, and rising moon,
Fair-beaming, and streaming,
Her silver light the boughs amang;
While falling, recalling,
The amorous thrush concludes her sang:
There, dearest Chloris, wilt thou rove
By whimpling burn and leafy shaw,
And hear my vows o' truth and love,
And say thou lo'es me best of a'?
Sing on, sing on.
[Written by the Ettrick Shepherd, to the tune of "Prince William Henry's Delight."]
Sing on, sing on, my bonnie bird,
The sang ye sang yestreen, O,
When here, aneath the hawthorn wild,
I met my bonnie Jean, O.
My blude ran prinklin through my veins,
My hair began to steer, O;
My heart play'd deep against my breast,
As I beheld my dear, O.
O weels me on my happy lot!
O weels me on my dearie!
O weels me on the charmin' spot,
Where a' combin'd to cheer me.
The mavis liltit on the bush,
The lavrock on the green, O;
The lily bloom'd, the daisy blush'd,
But a' was nought to Jean, O.
