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61
BONNIE JEAN.
SONG XXXV.
1
Fair dweller by the Solway foam,White-footed maid of Preston Plain;
Sweet lass, with love-locks raven black,
When wilt thou show thy face again:
For few they are, and far between
The visits of my bonnie Jean.
2
Now fading is the summer sun,Bright-smiling o'er the tufted knowes,
The shepherd's homeward song I hear,
From folding of his lambs and ewes:
And evening's herald star is near,
Which trystes the hour I meet my dear.
3
Reclin'd she at her casement sits,More lovely than a new-found star,
Awoke with the Creator's breath,
O'er Criffel's comely peak afar:
When stops the herdsman at his fold,
The beauteous stranger to behold.
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4
Moves all the grove with yellow throats,Harmonious shakers of the shade;
The wind wafts incense from the bank,
With blossom'd cowslips rich inlaid:
Blythe bird, and odoriferous flow'r,
Rejoice around my maiden's bow'r.
5
O were I heaven's precenter lark,In morning's silver porch to sing,
The angel path I would forsake,
Fond hov'ring on delighted wing;
On my love's casement to alight,
And hmyn her wakening founts of light.
6
For oh! her bonnie balmy mouth,Is fragrant as a new-sprung rose;
Shine when she smiles her polished teeth,
Clear sown like April morning dews:
And the sweet breath which dwelleth there,
Is as the clover-perfum'd air.
7
In arbour of wine-scented plane,'Mang cowslip borders budding green;
There on spring's virgin-blossom'd sheets,
Oh let me sit aside my Jean;
Touching her bosom's silken fold,
Communion with her lips to hold.
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8
Her words are honey to my mind,For precious ointment's on her tongue;
Love's sweetly lisping messenger,
Within his balmy portal hung:
Which doth delightful tidings bear,
As ever came to mortal ear.
9
Bright wave the witch-locks on her brow,And graceful on her rosie cheek;
And, oh! they have enchain'd my heart,
That fain again would freedom seek;
Some troublous moments to remain,
Till charm'd within these toils again.
10
Stream-water'd is my garden gay,Where herbs sweet bleeding tops disclose;
My cottage on Nith's verdant bank,
Far on the stream its shadow throws:
Groves filled with melody, behind,
Wave fragrant-topp'd in morning wind.
11
And all around me is delight,Loud bleat the flocks from sunward pen;
And pleasant cottages arise,
Filled with the happy hum of men:
But, inharmonious all to me,
Without, sweet maid, the love of thee.
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