JOHN HAY'S Bonny Lassie.
By smooth winding Tay a Swain was reclining,
Aft cry'd he, Oh hey! Maun I still live pining
My sell thus away, and darna discover
To my bonny Hay that I am her Lover.
Nae mair it will hide, the Flame waxes stranger,
If she's not my Bride, my Days are nae langer;
Then I'll take a Heart, and try at a Venture,
May be e'er we part my Vows may content her.
She's fresh as the Spring, and sweet as Aurora,
When Birds mount and sing bidding Day a Good-morrow.
The Sward of the Mead enamel'd with Daisies,
Look wither'd and dead when twin'd of her Graces.
But if she appear where Verdures invite her,
The Fountains run clear, and Flowers smell the Sweeter,
'Tis Heav'n to be by, when her Wit is a flowing,
Her Smiles and bright Eye set my Spirits a glowing.
The mair that I gaze, the deeper I'm wounded,
Struck dumb with Amaze, my Mind is confounded;
I'm all in a Fire, dear Maid, to caress ye,
For a' my Desire is Hay's bonny Lassie.
