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'.