Allan Ramsay

Bonnie Chirsty

How sweetly smells the simmer green;
⁠     Sweet taste the peach and cherry;
Painting and order please our een,
⁠     And claret makes us merry:
But finest colours, fruits and flowers,
⁠     And wine, though I be thirsty,
Lose a' their charms, and weaker powers,
     ⁠Compar'd wi' those of Chirsty.

When wand'ring o'er the flow'ry park,
⁠     No natural beauty wanting;
How lightsome is't to hear the lark,
     ⁠And birds in concert chanting!
But if my Chirsty tunes her voice,
⁠     I'm rapt in admiration;
My thoughts wi' ecstasies rejoice,
⁠     And drap the haill creation.

Whene'er she smiles a kindly glance,
⁠     I take the happy omen,
And aften mint to make advance,
⁠     Hoping she'll prove a woman.
But, dubious of my ain desert,
⁠     My sentiments I smother,
Wi' secret sighs I vex my heart,
     ⁠For fear she love another.

Thus sang blate Edie by a burn,
⁠     His Chirsty did o'er-hear him;
She doughtna let her lover mourn;
⁠     But, ere he wist, drew near him.
She spak' her favour wi' a look,
⁠     Which left nae room to doubt her:
He wisely this white minute took,
⁠     And flang his arms about her.

My Chirsty! witness, bonny stream,
⁠     Sic joys frae tears arising!
I wish this may na be a dream
     ⁠O love the maist surprising!
Time was too precious now for tauk,
⁠     This point of a' his wishes
He wad na wi' set speeches bauk,
⁠     But wair'd it a' on kisses.