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THE ROSES BLAW.
O! ha'e you seen the roses blaw,
The heather bloom, the broom an' a',
The lily spring as white as snaw,
Wi' a' their native splendour:
Yet Mary's sweeter on the green,
As fresh and fair as Flora queen;
Mair stately than the branching bean,
And like the ivy, slender.
In nature, like a summer day,
Transcendant as a sunny ray;
Her shape and air is frank and gay,
Wi' a' that's sweet and tender.
While lav'rocks sing their cheerful lays,
And shepherds brush the dewy braes,
To meet wi' Mary's bonny face,
Amang the shades I wander.
My captive breast, by fancy led,
Adores the sweet, the lovely maid,
Wi' ilka smile and charm array'd,
To make a heart surrender.
I love her mair than bees do flowers,
Or birks the spreading leafy bowers;
Her presence yields me what the showers,
To hills and vallies render.
Could I obtain my charmer's love,
Mair stable than a rock I'd prove;
Wi' a' the meekness of a dove,
To ilka pleasure haud her.
If she wad like a shepberd lad,
I'd change my cane for crook and plaid;
Upon the hill tune up the reed,
And wi' a sang commend her.
For her I'd live a life remote,
Wi' her I'd love a rustic cot;
There bliss kind fortune for my lot,
And ilka comfort lend her.
Till death seals up my wearied e'e,
In troubled dreams her form I'll see;
Till she consents to live wi' me,
In lonesome shades I'll wander.
This work was published before January 1, 1929, and is in the public domain worldwide because the author died at least 100 years ago.
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