The Book of Scottish Song/My Bessie

My Bessie.

[Alex. Hume.—Air, "The Posie." This song, set to a beautiful air, was published in "The Monthly Repository" for May, 1834.]

My Bessie, O, but look upon these bonnie budding flowers,
O, do na they remember thee o' childhood's happy hours,
When we upon this very hill sae aft did row an' play,
An' thou wert like the morning sun, an' life a nichtless day.

The gowans—they were bonnie—how I'd pu' them from the stem,
An' rin in noisy blythesomeness to thee, my Bess, wi' them,
An' place them in thy white, white breast; for which thou'dst smile on me.—
I saw nae mair the gowans then—then saw I only thee.

Like twa fair roses on a tree, we flourished an' we grew;
An' as we grew our loves grew too, for feeling was their dew.
How aft thou'dst thraw thy wee bit arms in love about my neck,
An' breathe young vows, that after years o' sorrow ha'e na brak.

We'd raise our lisping voices in auld Coila's melting lays,
An' sing that tearfu' tale about Doon's bonnie banks an' braes;
But thocht na we o' banks an' braes, except thae at our feet—
Like yon wee bird, we sang our sang, yet kent na that 'twas sweet.

O, is na this a joyous day? kind Nature's breathing forth
In gladness an' in loveliness owre a' the wide wide earth;
The linties, they are lilting love, on ilka bush an' tree—
O, may sic joys be ever felt, my Bess, by thee an' me.

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