song.—o, were i on parnassus hill
tune—“my love is lost to me.”
o, were i on parnassus hill,
or had o' helicon my fill,
that i might catch poetic skill,
to sing how dear i love thee!
but nith maun be my muse's well,
my muse maun be thy bonie sel',
on corsincon i'll glowr and spell,
and write how dear i love thee.
then come, sweet muse, inspire my lay!
for a' the lee-lang simmer's day
i couldna sing, i couldna say,
how much, how dear, i love thee,
i see thee dancing o'er the green,
thy waist sae jimp, thy limbs sae clean,
thy tempting lips, thy roguish een—
by heaven and earth i love thee!
by night, by day, a-field, at hame,
the thoughts o' thee my breast inflame:
and aye i muse and sing thy name—
i only live to love thee.
tho' i were doom'd to wander on,
beyond the sea, beyond the sun,
till my last weary sand was run;
till then—and then i love thee!