The Book of Scottish Song/Not the swan on the lake

Not the swan on the lake.

[This is a translation from a Gaelic song by the author, Ewen Maclachlan, A.M., Aberdeen, and is here printed for the first time.]

Not the swan on the lake, or the foam on the shore,
Can compare with the charms of the maid I adore:
Not so white is the new milk that flows o'er the pail,
Or the snow that is shower'd from the boughs of the vale.

As the cloud's yellow wreath on the mountain's high brow,
The locks of my fair one redundantly flow;
Her cheeks have the tint that the roses display,
When they glitter with dews on the morning of May.

As the planet of Venus that gleams o'er the grove,
Her blue-rolling eye are the symbols of love:
Her pearl-circled bosom diffuses bright rays,
Like the moon, when the stars are bedimm'd with her blaze.

The mavis and lark, when they welcome the dawn,
Make a chorus of joy to resound through the lawn:
But the mavis is tuneless; the lark strives in vain,
When my beautiful charmer renews her sweet strain.

When summer bespangles the landscape wi' flow'rs,
While the thrush and the cuckoo sing soft from the bow'rs,
Through the wood-shaded windings with Bella I'll rove,
And feast unrestrain'd on the smiles of my love.

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