(TUNE: OONAGH’S WATERFALL)
Sae flaxen were her ringlets,
Her eyebrows of a darker hue,
Bewitchingly o’erarching
Twa laughing een o’ bonie 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 her bonie face I saw;
And ay my Chloris’ dearest charm,
She says, she lo’es me best of a’.
Like harmony her motion;
Her pretty ancle is a spy,
Betraying fair proportion,
Wad make a saint forget the sky.
Sae warming, sae charming,
Her fauteless 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 ay my Chloris’ dearest charm,
She says, she lo’es me best of a’.
And gaudy shew at sunny noon;
Give me the lonely valley,
The dewy eve, and rising moon.
Fair beaming, and streaming
Her silver light the boughs among;
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’.