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5
And aye the stound, the deadly wound,
Cam frae her een sae bonnie blue
Cut spare to speak, and spare to speed,
She’ll aiblins listen to my vow:
Shoud she refuse, I’ll lay my dead
To her twa een sae bonnie blue.
Is there a heart that never lov'd
Is there a heart that never lov’d.
Nor felt soft woman’s igh?
Is there a man can mark, unmov’d,
Dear woman’s tearful eye?
Oh! bear him to some distant shore,
Or solitary cell,
Where nought but savage monsters roar,
Where love ne’er deign’d to dwell.
For there’s a charm in woman’s eye,
A language in her tear,
A spell in every sacred sigh,
To man—to virtue dear.
And he who can resist her smiles,
With brutes alone should live,
Nor taste that joy which care beguiles——
That joy her virtues give.
