The Highland Queen.
[This song appears in Ruddiman's Edinburgh Magazine for April, 1758. Burns says that the author was a Mr. Macvicar, purser of the Solbay man of war.]
No more my song shall be, ye swains,
Of purling streams, or flowery plains;
More pleasing beauties me inspire,
And Phœbus tunes the warbling lyre;
Divinely aided, thus I mean
To celebrate my Highland queen.
In her, sweet innocence ye'll find,
With freedom, truth, and beauty join'd;
From pride and affectation free,
Alike she smiles on you and me.
The brightest nymph that trips the green,
I do pronounce my Highland queen.
No sordid wish, or trifling joy,
Her settled calm of mind destroy;
Strict honour fills her spotless soul,
And adds a lustre to the whole;
A matchless shape, a graceful mien,
All centre in my Highland queen.
How blest that youth, whom gentle fate
Has destined for so fair a mate!
Has all these wond'rous gifts in store,
And each returning day brings more;
No youth so happy can be seen,
Possessing thee, my Highland queen.