The lily of the vale.
[Allan Ramsay.—This may be sung to the tune of "The Banks of Doon."]
The lily of the vale is sweet;
And sweeter still the op'ning rose;
But sweeter far my Mary is
Than any blooming flow'r that blows.
Whilst spring her fragrant blossoms spreads,
I'll wander oft by Mary's side,
And whisper saft the tender tale,
By Forth, sweet Forth's meandering tide.
There will we walk at early dawn,
Ere yet the sun begins to shine;
At eve oft to the lawn we'll tread,
And mark that splendid orb's decline.
The fairest choicest flowers I'll crop,
To deck my lovely Mary's hair,
And while I live, I vow and swear,
She'll be my chief, my only care.