By Roslin's ancient towers,
Where Esk steals slowly to the sea,
'Twas there ae morn in simmer,
My bonnie lassie fled frae me.
Nae smile then--beguiled then
A heart ower aften filled wi' care,
But, eerie, an' weary,
I sighed for her I saw nae mair:
An' wandered by the tinklin' burns
That echoed ilka birdie's sang. I speered for ane whase beauty
Nane could forget that ever saw,
A form that had nae equal
In lowly cot or lordly ha'.
A pleasure--past measure,
Within her presence aye was found,
Sae cheering--endearing,
Was ilka smile she coost around.
I said her een was saftly blue,
Than jewels rare they brighter shone,
But nane had seen a face sae fair,
Though it seemed made for gazing on. At length, in yonder valley,
To find her out I gat a sign,
For, round her ivyed window,
Birds sang mair sweet, flowers bloomed mair fine.
There, peering--careering,
The laverock waked the blushing day,
Inviting--delighting,
The blackbird sang his e'enin' lay.
Twas there, in beauty's guise, I found
The lass for whom a' else I'd tine;
An' now, on earth, what seek I mair?
I've found this bonnie lass o' mine!