Robert Burns (1759–1796). Poems and Songs.
The Harvard Classics. 1909–14.
122 . The Lass o Ballochmyle
’T
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.
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!” 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. 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. Where frame and honours lofty shine; 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.