Francis Bennoch

The Flower of Keir

O, WHAT care I where Love was born!
  I know where oft he lingers,
Till night’s black curtain ’s drawn aside
  By morning’s rosy fingers.
If you would know, come, follow me,
  O’er mountain, moss, and river,
To where the Nith and Scar agree
  To flow as one forever.

Pass Kirk-o’-Keir and Clover lea,
  Through loanings red with roses;
But pause beside the spreading tree
  That Fanny’s bower encloses.
There, knitting in her shady grove,
  Sits Fanny singing gayly;
Unwitting of the chains of love	
  She ’s forging for us daily.

Like light that brings the blossom forth,
  And sets the corn a-growing,
Melts icy mountains in the north,
  And sets the streams a-flowing;
So Fanny’s eyes, so bright and wise,
  Shed loving rays to cheer us,
Her absence gives us wintry skies,
  ’T is summer when she ’s near us!

O, saw ye ever such a face
  To waken love and wonder;
A brow with such an arch of grace,
  And blue eyes shining under!
Her snaring smiles, sweet nature’s wiles,
  Are equalled not by many;
Her look it charms, her love it warms,
  The flower of Keir is Fanny.