Her blue rollin’ e’e.
[Hogg.—Tune, "Banks of the Devon."]
My lassie is lovely as May-day, adorning
Wi' gowans an' primroses ilka green lee;
Tho' sweet is the violet, new blown i' the morning,
As tender an' sweet is her blue rollin' e'e.
I say, what is whiter than snaw on the mountain?
Or what wi' the red rose in beauty can vie?
Yes, whiter her bosom than snaw on the mountain,
And bonnie her face as the red rose can be.
See yon lowly cottage that stands by the wild wood,
Hedged round wi' sweet briar and green willow tree;
'Twas yonder I spent the first days of my childhood,
And first felt the power o' a love-rollin' e'e.
Tho' soon frae my hame and my lassie I wander'd,
Tho' lang I've been tossing on fortune's rough sea,
Aye dear was the valley where Ettrick meander'd;
Aye dear was the blink o' her blue rollin' e'e.
O for the evening, and O for the hour,
When down by yon greenwood she promised to be;
When quick as the summer dew dries on the flower,
A' earthly affections and wishes wad flee.
Let Art and let Nature display their proud treasure;
Let Paradise boast o' what ance it could gi'e;
As high is my bliss, and as sweet is my pleasure,
In the heart-melting blink o' my lassie's blue e'e.