The Book of Scottish Song/The lass ayont the hill

The lass ayont the hill.

[James Macdonald.—Here first Printed.]

Gae range the warld baith far an' near,
Search ilka court an' gaudy ha',
Get titled dames wi' princely names,
I ken a lass wad ding them a'.

Bring a' the walth Peru can gi'e,
Or e'en Golconda's mines can shaw,
Rake up auld ocean's hoarded gear,
I ken a lass that's worth it a'.

Awa', fause loons, your artfu' wiles
Maun ne'er yon bonnie lassie spill,
Her name and hame I winna tell,
The bonnie lass ayont the hill.

Her cheeks are like the apple bud,
Her brow is white as drifted snaw,
Her lips are like the berries red,
That grow upon yon garden wa'.

It's sweet to see the roses blaw
Adown the holms o' Endrick lea,
But sweeter are the blinks o' luve
The bonnie lassie gi'es to me.

Yon milkwhite thorn now a' in bloom,
That sweetly scents the evening air;
Yon cloud a warld o' pearly snaw,
Are nae sae pure nor half sae fair.

Ilk colour that the heavens can gi'e
Does but ae lovely rainbow fill;
Sae a' that's sweet on earth is she,
The bonnie lass ayont the hill.

Gin I'd been born a belted knight,
Or laird of mickle gear an' Ian',
I wadna lay me down to sleep
Afore I gat her lily han'.

But waes my heart! I'm but a herd,
An' sae maun tether down my will;
Yet come what may, l'll climb the brae,
And see my lass ayont the hill.

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