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'.