---
title: "The Lass of Cessnock Banks"
subtitle: "A Song of Similes"
author: "Robert Burns"
form: "Song"
year: "1780"
tune: "If he be a Butcher neat and trim"
location: "Lochlea"
source: "Project Gutenberg #1279 — Poems and Songs of Robert Burns"
source_url: "https://www.gutenberg.org/cache/epub/1279/pg1279.txt"
canonical_url: "https://robert-burns.com/poems/the-lass-of-cessnock-banks/"
---

# The Lass of Cessnock Banks

### A Song of Similes

## Song
On Cessnock banks a lassie dwells;  
Could I describe her shape and mein;  
Our lasses a’ she far excels,  
An’ she has twa sparkling roguish een.

She’s sweeter than the morning dawn,  
When rising Phoebus first is seen,  
And dew-drops twinkle o’er the lawn;  
An’ she has twa sparkling roguish een.

She’s stately like yon youthful ash,  
That grows the cowslip braes between,  
And drinks the stream with vigour fresh;  
An’ she has twa sparkling roguish een.

She’s spotless like the flow’ring thorn,  
With flow’rs so white and leaves so green,  
When purest in the dewy morn;  
An’ she has twa sparkling roguish een.

Her looks are like the vernal May,  
When ev’ning Phoebus shines serene,  
While birds rejoice on every spray;  
An’ she has twa sparkling roguish een.

Her hair is like the curling mist,  
That climbs the mountain-sides at e’en,  
When flow’r-reviving rains are past;  
An’ she has twa sparkling roguish een.

Her forehead’s like the show’ry bow,  
When gleaming sunbeams intervene  
And gild the distant mountain’s brow;  
An’ she has twa sparkling roguish een.

Her cheeks are like yon crimson gem,  
The pride of all the flowery scene,  
Just opening on its thorny stem;  
An’ she has twa sparkling roguish een.

Her bosom’s like the nightly snow,  
When pale the morning rises keen,  
While hid the murm’ring streamlets flow;  
An’ she has twa sparkling roguish een.

Her lips are like yon cherries ripe,  
That sunny walls from Boreas screen;  
They tempt the taste and charm the sight;  
An’ she has twa sparkling roguish een.

Her teeth are like a flock of sheep,  
With fleeces newly washen clean,  
That slowly mount the rising steep;  
An’ she has twa sparkling roguish een.

Her breath is like the fragrant breeze,  
That gently stirs the blossom’d bean,  
When Phoebus sinks behind the seas;  
An’ she has twa sparkling roguish een.

Her voice is like the ev’ning thrush,  
That sings on Cessnock banks unseen,  
While his mate sits nestling in the bush;  
An’ she has twa sparkling roguish een.

But it’s not her air, her form, her face,  
Tho’ matching beauty’s fabled queen;  
’Tis the mind that shines in ev’ry grace,  
An’ chiefly in her roguish een.

## Footnotes
1. The lass is identified as Ellison Begbie, a servant wench, daughter of a “Farmer Lang”.

---

Source: [Project Gutenberg #1279 — Poems and Songs of Robert Burns](https://www.gutenberg.org/cache/epub/1279/pg1279.txt)  
Canonical HTML: https://robert-burns.com/poems/the-lass-of-cessnock-banks/