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Poem by Robert Burns


The Lass O ballochmyle


TWAS even-the dewy fields were green,
  On every blade the pearls hang;
The Zephyrs wantond round the bean,
  And bore its fragrant sweets alang:
In every glen the Mavis sang,
  All nature listening seemd the while:
Except where green-wood echoes rang,
  Amang the braes o Ballochmyle.

With careless step I onward strayd,
  My heart rejoiced in natures joy,
When musing in a lonely glade,
  A maiden fair I chanced to spy;
Her look was like the mornings eye,
  Her hair like natures vernal smile;
Perfection whisperd, passing by,
  Behold the lass o Ballochmyle!

Fair is the morn in flowery May,
  And sweet is night in Autumn mild,
When roving thro the garden gay,
  Or wandering in the lonely wild:
But Woman, Natures darling child!
  There all her charms she does compile;
Evn there her other works are foild
  By the bonnie lass o Ballochmyle.

O had she been a country maid,
  And I the happy country swain,
Tho shelterd in the lowest shed
  That ever rose on Scotlands plain!
Thro weary winters wind and rain,
  With joy, with rapture, I would toil;
And nightly to my bosom strain
  The bonnie lass o Ballochmyle.

Then pride might climb the slippery steep,
  Where fame and honours lofty shine;
And thirst of gold might tempt the deep,
  Or downward seek the Indian mine:
Give me the cot below the pine,
  To tend the flocks or till the soil,
And every day have joys divine,
  With the bonnie lass o Ballochmyle.



                      Robert Burns


Robert Burns's other poems:
  1. Theres News, Lasses
  2. Scroggam
  3. To a Young Lady, Miss Jessy Lewars, Dumfries, with Books which the Bard Presented her
  4. The Toast
  5. To Alex Cunningham, Writer


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