Hugh MacDonald

The Lassie o’ Carmyle

’T WAS on a bonnie simmer morn,
  The fields were wet wi’ dew,
And Clutha’s banks were clad wi’ flowers
  Of fairest form and hue;
The wild birds sang their sweetest notes,
  Blithe Phœbus ceased to smile,
As wandering forth I chanced to meet
  The lassie o’ Carmyle.

Her glowing cheek outrivalled far
  The rosebud’s sweetest hue;
Her hair was like the raven’s wing,
  Her eyes a lovely blue.
O’ercome with love and sweet surprise,
  Entranced I stood awhile,
Then fondly clasped, in warm embrace,
  The lassie o’ Carmyle.

Yon sweet wee gowan on the bank
  Wi’ her could ne’er compare;
The primrose pale, the violet’s blue,
  Were ne’er so sweet and fair.	 
I told my love wi’ artless tongue,
  Wi’ heart unstained by guile;
She blushed, she smiled, but noo she ’s mine,
  The lassie o’ Carmyle.

Unheeded now, ambition scales
  The slippery hill of fame;
Unenvied now, pale avarice gains
  Blind fortune’s fickle game:
For what are rank or fame to me
  Compared wi’ her sweet smile?	 
My heart’s first treasure still shall be
  The lassie o’ Carmyle.