To see her is to love her,
   And love but her for ever;
For Nature made her what she is,
   And ne’er made sic anither!

Thou art a queen, fair Lesley,
   Thy subjects we, before thee:
Thou art divine, fair Lesley,
   The hearts o’ men adore thee.

The Deil he couldna scaith¹ thee,
   Or aught that wad belang thee;
He’d look into thy bonnie face
   And say, ‘I canna wrang thee!’

The Powers aboon will tent² thee,
   Misfortune sha’na steer³ thee:
Thou’rt like themsel’ sae lovely,
   That ill they’ll ne’er let near thee.

Return again, fair Lesley,
   Return to Caledonie!
That we may brag we hae a lass
   There’s nane again sae bonnie!

515   Highland Mary

YE banks and braes and streams around
   The castle o’ Montgomery,
Green be your woods, and fair your flowers,
   Your waters never drumlie!¹
There simmer first unfauld her robes,
   And there the langest tarry;
For there I took the last fareweel
   O’ my sweet Highland Mary.

How sweetly bloom’d the gay green birk,
   How rich the hawthorn’s blossom,
As underneath their fragrant shade
   I clasp’d her to my bosom!
The golden hours on angel wings
   Flew o’er me and my dearie;
For dear to me as light and life
   Was my sweet Highland Mary.

Wi’ monie a vow and lock’d embrace
   Our parting was fu’ tender;
And, pledging aft to meet again,
   We tore oursels asunder;
But oh! fell Death’s untimely frost,
   That nipt my flower sae early!
Now green’s the sod, and cauld’s the clay,
   That wraps my Highland Mary!

O pale, pale now, those rosy lips
   I aft hae kiss’d sae fondly!
And closed for aye the sparkling glance
   That dwelt on me sae kindly!
And mouldering now in silent dust
   That heart that lo’ed me dearly!
But still within my bosom’s core
   Shall live my Highland Mary.

516   O were my Love yon Lilac fair

O WERE my Love yon lilac fair,
   Wi’ purple blossoms to the spring,
And I a bird to shelter there,
   When wearied on my little wing;
How I wad mourn when it was torn
   By autumn wild and winter rude!
But I wad sing on wanton wing
   When youthfu’ May its bloom renew’d.

O gin my Love were yon red rose
   That grows upon the castle wa’,
And I mysel a drap o’ dew,
   Into her bonnie breast to fa’;
O there, beyond expression blest,
   I’d feast on beauty a’ the night;
Seal’d on her silk-saft faulds to rest,
   Till fley’d awa’ by Phœbus’ light.

517   A Red, Red Rose

O MY Luve’s like a red, red rose
   That’s newly sprung in June:
O my Luve’s like the melodie
   That’s sweetly play’d in tune!

As fair art thou, my bonnie lass,
   So deep in luve am I
And I will luve thee still, my dear,
   Till a’ the seas gang dry:

Till a’ the seas gang dry, my dear,
   And the rocks melt wi’ the sun;
I will luve thee still, my dear,
   While the sands o’ life shall run.

And fare thee weel, my only luve,
   And fare thee weel a while!
And I will come again, my Luve,
   Tho’ it were ten thousand mile.