LADY JEAN.
SONG XII.
1
I love a Lady fair, but to love her ah! how vain,
Too high is her degree for a peasant to attain,
Too rich the blood which swelleth and warmeth every vein,
To mix with one so mean O!
Red rosie is her cheek, dark is her beaming eye,
And sweep her amber tresses o'er her snowy bosom high,
A pillow far too princely for the toil-wet cheek to lie,
Of a peasant lad at e'en O.
2
When gleams the summer sun on the Sunday morning fair,
At kirk I mark her bending her lovely neck in prayer,
A lovlier lustre wears her cheek, diviner is her air;
Her mind to heaven is soaring:
But, palpitates my bosom in fonder ecstasy,
When her bright-beaming eye glances secret on me,
Awe-smit I stoop my head to the fair divinity,
Her presence meek adoring.
3
I've saunter'd ere the sun rose her habitation round,
The field where walked her lillie foot I deemed it holy ground,
And I hied me to the arbour with honey-suckle bound,
Where she had sat yestreen O.
I rais'd her golden rose top, borne down with balmy dew,
Each fragrant flower I blessed, bright blooming as it grew,
And my arms in holy ardor around her seat I threw,
And wept for Lady Jean O.
4
Oft 'mongst the yellow broom by her dwelling I have lain,
When homeward hied the cotter from the sweltry summer plain,
Whilst the red sinking sun on the casement cast a stain,
Of the room where she doth lie O.
Long sat the lovely damsel lone ruminating there,
Then open'd her white casement, and amidst the dewy air,
Wav'd back her amber tresses with her lillie fingers bare,
And glanc'd on me her eye O.
5
Oh dear I deem she loves me—at twilight's pleasant hour,
Descended the fair damsel from her father's turret tow'r,
And rapture-smitten met me by the green lonesome bow'r,
All in the bright moon's presence:
Around my glowing forehead she placed a chaplet fair,
Enwoven with two tresses of her long descending hair;
I'll worship't as an idol in my bosom evermair,
With my whole heart's obesience.
