Her closed eyes, like weapons sheath’d,
     Were seal’d in soft repose;
     Her lip, still as she fragrant breath’d,
     It richer dyed the rose;
     The springing lilies, sweetly prest,
     Wild-wanton kissed her rival breast;
     He gaz’d, he wish’d,
     He mear’d, he blush’d,
     His bosom ill at rest.

     Her robes, light-waving in the breeze,
     Her tender limbs embrace;
     Her lovely form, her native ease,
     All harmony and grace;
     Tumultuous tides his pulses roll,
     A faltering, ardent kiss he stole;
     He gaz’d, he wish’d,
     He fear’d, he blush’d,
     And sigh’d his very soul.

     As flies the partridge from the brake,
     On fear-inspired wings,
     So Nelly, starting, half-awake,
     Away affrighted springs;
     But Willie follow’d—­as he should,
     He overtook her in the wood;
     He vow’d, he pray’d,
     He found the maid
     Forgiving all, and good.

Young Jockie Was The Blythest Lad

     Young Jockie was the blythest lad,
     In a’ our town or here awa;
     Fu’ blythe he whistled at the gaud,
     Fu’ lightly danc’d he in the ha’.

     He roos’d my een sae bonie blue,
     He roos’d my waist sae genty sma’;
     An’ aye my heart cam to my mou’,
     When ne’er a body heard or saw.

     My Jockie toils upon the plain,
     Thro’ wind and weet, thro’ frost and snaw: 
     And o’er the lea I leuk fu’ fain,
     When Jockie’s owsen hameward ca’.

     An’ aye the night comes round again,
     When in his arms he taks me a’;
     An’ aye he vows he’ll be my ain,
     As lang’s he has a breath to draw.

The Banks Of Nith

     The Thames flows proudly to the sea,
     Where royal cities stately stand;
     But sweeter flows the Nith to me,
     Where Comyns ance had high command. 
     When shall I see that honour’d land,
     That winding stream I love so dear! 
     Must wayward Fortune’s adverse hand
     For ever, ever keep me here!

     How lovely, Nith, thy fruitful vales,
     Where bounding hawthorns gaily bloom;
     And sweetly spread thy sloping dales,
     Where lambkins wanton through the broom. 
     Tho’ wandering now must be my doom,
     Far from thy bonie banks and braes,
     May there my latest hours consume,
     Amang the friends of early days!

Jamie, Come Try Me

     Chorus.—­Jamie, come try me,
     Jamie, come try me,
     If thou would win my love,
     Jamie, come try me.

     If thou should ask my love,
     Could I deny thee? 
     If thou would win my love,
     Jamie, come try me! 
     Jamie, come try me, &c.