THE LASS O' BALLOCHMYLE.
'Twas even, the dewy fields were green,
- On every blade the pearls hang;
The zephyr wanton'd round the bean,
- And bore its fragrant sweets alang,
In every glen the mavis sang,
- All nature listening seemn'd the while,
Except where green-wood echoes rang,
- Amang the braes o' Ballochmyle.
With careless step I onward stray'd,
- My heart rejoic'd in nature's joy,
When musing in a lonely glade,
- A maiden fair I chanc'd to spy;
Her look was like the morning's eye,
- Her air like nature's verual smile;
Perfection whispered passing by,
- Behold the lass o' Ballochmyle!
Fair is the morn in flowery May,
- And sweet is night in Autumn mild;
When roving thro' the garden gay,
- Or wandering in a lonely wild!
But woman, nature's darling child!
- There all her charms she does compile;
