she says she loes me best of a'

  tune—“oonagh's waterfall.”

  sae flaxen were her ringlets,

  her eyebrows of a darker hue,

  bewitchingly o'er-arching

  twa laughing e'en o' lovely blue;

  her smiling, sae wyling.

  wad make a wretch forget his woe;

  what pleasure, what treasure,

  unto these rosy lips to grow!

  such was my chloris' bonie face,

  when first that bonie face i saw;

  and aye my chloris' dearest charm—

  she says, she lo'es me best of a'.

  like harmony her motion,

  her pretty ankle is a spy,

  betraying fair proportion,

  wad make a saint forget the sky:

  sae warming, sae charming,

  her faultless form and gracefu' air;

  ilk feature—auld nature

  declar'd that she could do nae mair:

  hers are the willing chains o' love,

  by conquering beauty's sovereign law;

  and still my chloris' dearest charm—

  she says, she lo'es me best of a'.

  let others love the city,

  and gaudy show, at sunny noon;

  gie me the lonely valley,

  the dewy eve and rising moon,

  fair beaming, and streaming,

  her silver light the boughs amang;

  while falling; recalling,

  the amorous thrush concludes his sang;

  there, dearest chloris, wilt thou rove,

  by wimpling burn and leafy shaw,

  and hear my vows o' truth and love,

  and say, thou lo'es me best of a'.