’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.8
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!”16
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’dBy the bonie lass o’ Ballochmyle.24
O, had she been a country maid,And I the happy country swain,Tho’ shelter’d in the lowest shedThat 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 strainThe bonie lass o’ Ballochmyle.32
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 divineWith the bonie lass o’ Ballochmyle.40