Poems and Songs By Robert Gilfillan. Fourth edition. With memoir of the author, and appendix of his latest pieces |
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THERE'S PLEASURE WHEN THE MORNING SUN. |
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 | Poems and Songs |  |
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THERE'S PLEASURE WHEN THE MORNING SUN.
There's pleasure when the morning sun looks ower the mountain grey,
And shines on the flowerets a' blushing in the dew;
When the starnies in the blue lift in dimness fade away,
And the little singing birdies their sangs a' renew.
But no the sun o' morn, though in brightness he appear,
And simmer in gladness come ower the flowery lea,
Can gie me sic delight as a smile frae my dear,
The lassie o' my heart that is dearest to me!
And shines on the flowerets a' blushing in the dew;
When the starnies in the blue lift in dimness fade away,
And the little singing birdies their sangs a' renew.
But no the sun o' morn, though in brightness he appear,
And simmer in gladness come ower the flowery lea,
Can gie me sic delight as a smile frae my dear,
The lassie o' my heart that is dearest to me!
Her face it is the rose newly washed wi' a shower,
Her ringlets the slae-berries o' the jetty dye;
Her neck sae round and sma', is the bonnie lily flower,
Her een the dewy pearls in its bosom that lie.
The mavis' sang is sweet when at e'enin' hour he sings,
And sweet is the blackbird singin' on the tree;
But the voice o' my lassie a sweeter music brings,
The lassie o' my heart that is dearest to me!
Her ringlets the slae-berries o' the jetty dye;
Her neck sae round and sma', is the bonnie lily flower,
Her een the dewy pearls in its bosom that lie.
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And sweet is the blackbird singin' on the tree;
But the voice o' my lassie a sweeter music brings,
The lassie o' my heart that is dearest to me!
The shepherd loves the shade at the sunny hour o' noon,
When his flocks on the green braes are a' feeding by;
The bard loves to wander beneath the smiling moon,
When the wind scarcely breathes through the blue e'ening sky.
The bee loves the wild flowers adown the glen that blaw,
The lammie the gowan that blossoms on the lea;
Sae I lo'e my bonnie lassie, the fairest of a',
The lassie o' my heart that is dearest to me!
When his flocks on the green braes are a' feeding by;
The bard loves to wander beneath the smiling moon,
When the wind scarcely breathes through the blue e'ening sky.
The bee loves the wild flowers adown the glen that blaw,
The lammie the gowan that blossoms on the lea;
Sae I lo'e my bonnie lassie, the fairest of a',
The lassie o' my heart that is dearest to me!
I carena for grandeur nor fortune's fickle smile,
I sigh na for walth, sin' it never can be mine;
Could riches bring me joy, or my sorrows beguile,
Like the jewel that I prize an' never shall tine?
Her beauty's but the image o' her pure heart within,
The language o' her soul it is tauld in her e'e;
And her love mair than gowd I will ever seek to win,
The love o' my lassie that's dearest to me!
I sigh na for walth, sin' it never can be mine;
Could riches bring me joy, or my sorrows beguile,
Like the jewel that I prize an' never shall tine?
Her beauty's but the image o' her pure heart within,
The language o' her soul it is tauld in her e'e;
And her love mair than gowd I will ever seek to win,
The love o' my lassie that's dearest to me!
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