Bonnie Aggie Lang.
[James Macdonald.—Here first printed. Music by Mr. James Ferguson, Edinburgh.]
Oh ere we part, my heart leaps hie, to sing ae bonnie sang,
About my ain sweet lady-love, my darling Aggie Lang;
It is na that her cheeks are like the blooming damask rose,
It is na that her brow is white as stainless Alpine snows,
It is na that her locks are black as ony raven's wing,
Nor is't her e'e o' winning glee, that mak's me fondly sing.
But oh! her heart's a bonnie well that gushes fresh an' free
O' maiden love, an' happiness, and a' that sweet can be;
Though saft the sang o' simmer winds—the warbling o' the stream,
The carolling o' joyous birds—the murmur o' a dream,—
I'd rather hear ae gentle word frae Aggie's angel tongue,
For weel I ken her heart is mine,—the fountain whar it sprung.
Yestreen I met her in a glen about the gloamin' hour,
The moon was rising o'er the trees, the dew begemm'd ilk flouir,
The weary winds were hush'd asleep, an' no a sough cam' nigh,
E'en frae the waukrife stream that ran, in silver glintin' by:
I pressed her milkwhite han' in mine—she smil'd as angels smile,
But ah! frae me, her tale o' love, this warld maunna wile.
I saw the silver light o' heaven fa' on her bonnie brow,
An' glitter on the hinney blabs upon her cherry mou';
I saw the lily moonbeams steal the redness o' the rose,
An' sleep upon her downy cheek in beautiful repose.—
The moon rose high, the stream gaed by, but aye she smiled on me,
An' what she wadna breathe in words she tauld it wi' her e'e.
I've sat within a palace hall amid the grand an' gay,
I've listen'd to the carnival o' merry birds in May,
I've been in joyous companies—the wale o' mirth an' glee,
An' danced in nature's fairy bowers by mountain, lake, and lea.
But never has this heart o' mine career'd in purer pride,
As in that moonlit glen an' bower, wi' Aggie by my side.