The Lass O' Ballochmyle

Tune-"Ettrick Banks."

      '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 ev'ry glen the mavis sang,      All nature list'ning seem'd the while,      Except where greenwood 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 whisper'd, 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 wand'ring in the 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 bonie lass o' Ballochmyle.       O, had she been a country maid,      And I the happy country swain,      Tho' shelter'd in the lowest shed      That ever rose on Scotland's plain!      Thro' weary winter's wind and rain,      With joy, with rapture, I would toil;      And nightly to my bosom strain      The bonie lass o' Ballochmyle.       Then pride might climb the slipp'ry steep,      Where frame and honours lofty shine;      And thirst of gold might tempt the deep,      Or downward seek the Indian mine:      Give me the cot below the pine,      To tend the flocks or till the soil;      And ev'ry day have joys divine      With the bonie lass o' Ballochmyle.