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!