THE LOVELY LASS OF PRESTON-MILL.
SONG V.
1
The goldfinch loves the thistle top,
With beard down-dropping silver dew;
The lark rejoices with the sun,
Bright rising o'er the mountain blue.
But, I love best the summer moon,
Awak'ning on the eastern hill;
For then, in fragrant walks, I meet
The lovely lass of Preston-Mill.
2
The balmy cowslips' carpet green,
My love's white foot along the plain;
The golden gowans wag their tops,
In her superior presence fain.
I clasp her to my beating heart,
With her sweet lips I take my will;
For long I woo'd before I won,
My lovely lass of Preston Mill.
3
Mute was the wind, soft dropp'd the dew,
From heav'n's brow bright smiled the moon;
Flam'd all the stars, a silver mist
O'er-canopied the hills aboon.
Ye might have heard our beating hearts,
Our mixing breaths, all was so still;
Till golden-lock'd Aurora rose,
Peer to the lass of Preston-Mill.
4
Were she an idol, all of gold,
Had I the eye of worldish care;
My worship were not more devout,
I could not love the maiden mair.
Till death's cold dew-drop dims my eye,
And my love-throbbing heart lies still;
Thine every wish that warms my soul,
My lovely lass of Preston-Mill.
