This page has been validated.
7
Return, ye smiles, return again,
Return each sprightly grace,
I yield up to your charming reign,
All that enchanting face.
I take no outward shew amiss,
Rove where they will, her eyes,
Still let her smiles each shepherd' bless,
So she but hear my sighs.


THE LASS O' BALLOCHMYLE.

Twas even—the dewy fields were green,
On every blade the pearls haug,
The Zephyr wanton'd round the bean,
And bore its fragrant sweets alang.
In every glen the mavis sang,
All nature listening seem'd the while,
Except where greenwood echoes rang,
Amang the braes o' Ballochmyle.

With careless steps I onward stray'd,
My heart rejoiced in nature's joy,
When musing in a lonely shade,
A maiden fair I chanced to spy:
Her look was like the morning's aye,
Her hair like nature's vernal smile,
Perfection whispered passing by,
Behold the lass o' Ballochmyle.

Fair is the morn in flowery May,
And sweet is night in autumn mild,