Page:Lovely Jean (2).pdf/2

 

a’ the airts the win’ can blaw, I dearly like the west; For there the bonny lassie lives, The lass that I lo’e best; Tho’ wild woods grow, an rivers row, Wi’ mony a hill between, Baith day an’ night my fancy’s fligh Is ever wi’ my Jean.

I see her in the dewy flower, Sae lovely, sweet, an’ fair; I hear her voice in ilka bird, Wi’ music charm the air; There’s not a bonny flow’r that springs, By fountain shaw or green, Nor yet a bonny bird that sings, But minds me o’ my Jean.

Upon the banks of flowing Clyde, The lasses busk them braw; But when their best they hae put on, My Jeanie dings them a’; In hamely weeds she far exceeds, The fairest of the town; Baith grave and gay confess it sae, Tho’ dress'd in russet gown.