The Lass o' Ballochmyle (1823, Glasgow)/The Lass o' Ballochmyle
For other versions of this work, see The Lass o' Ballochmyle.
THE LASS O' BALLOCHMYLE.
'Twas even, the dewy fields were green, On every blade the pearls hang;The zephyr wanton'd round the bean, And bore its fragrant sweets alang;In every glen the mavis sang, All nature listening seem'd the while,Except where green-wood echoes rang, Amang the braes o' Ballochmyle.
With careless step I onward stray'd, My heart rejoic'd in nature's joy,When musing in a lonely glade, A maiden fair I chanc'd to spy;Her look was like the morning's eye, Her air like nature's vernal smile;Perfection whispered passing by, Behold the lass o' Ballochmyle!
Fair is the morn in flowery May, And sweet is night in Autumn mild;When roving thro' the garden gay, Or wandering in a lonely wild! But woman, nature's darling child! There all her charms she does compile; Even there her other works are foil'd By the bonny lass o' Ballochmyle.
O had she been a country maid, And I the happy country swain,Tho' sheltered in the lowest shed That ever rose on Scotia's plain;Thro' weary winter's wind and rain With joy, with rapture I would toil;And nightly to my bosom strain The bonny lass of Ballochmyle.
Then pride might climb this slippery steep, Where fame and honour lofty shine;And thirst of gold might tempt the deep Or downward sink the Indian mine;Give me the cot below the pine, To tend the flocks, or till the soil,And every day have joys divine, Wi' the bonny lass of Ballochmyle.