The Lass o' Ballochmyle (1823, Glasgow)/The Lass o' Ballochmyle

by Anonymous

For other versions of this work, see The Lass o' Ballochmyle.

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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.

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