The Poetry of Robert Burns Edited by William Ernest Henley and Thomas F. Henderson |
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| IV. |
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THE LASS O' BALLOCHMYLE |
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 | The Poetry of Robert Burns |  |
THE LASS O' BALLOCHMYLE
I
'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,
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All Nature list'ning seem'd the while,
Except where greenwood echoes rang
Amang the braes o' Ballochmyle.
II
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!’
III
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.
IV
O, had she been a country maid,And I the happy country swain,
Tho' shelter'd in the lowest shed
That ever rose on Scotia's plain,
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With joy, with rapture, I would toil,
And nightly to my bosom strain
The bonie lass o' Ballochmyle!
V
Then Pride might climb the slipp'ry steep,Where fame 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.
| The Poetry of Robert Burns | |