BOTHWELL BANK.
SONG XXXIX.
1
Sweet Bothwell bank, again thy bow'rs
Bud green, beneath spring's fostering show'rs;
The lilly on the burn's gay brow,
Wags its fair head o'erlaid with dew.
The fragrant cowslips, richly mealed,
Perfume thy walks by bush and bield;
And gladsome lark from morning cloud,
Drops earthward down, exulting loud.
2
So sweet wert thou that summer night,
Beneath the moon's new-waken'd light;
When my fair youth, upon my breast,
Sick-smitten, laid his head to rest:
Heaven stole his angel soul away,
As in mine arms he beauteous lay;
Like storm-swept lilly on the ground,
With all his fair locks loose around.
3
I howked a grave within my bower,
And there I laid my heavenly flower;
And thou wilt spring again, I said,
And bloom when other flow'rs will fade.
Refresh'd with dew divine thoul't stand,
A posie fit for God's own hand;
Amang the flow'rs of heav'n to blaw,
When earthly flow'rs will fade awa'.
