A

  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'.