Oonagh

Sae flaxen were her ringlets,

Her eye-brows of a darker hue,

Bewitchingly o'er arching

Twa laughing een o' bonnie blue.

Her smiling, sae wyling,

Wou'd make a wretch forget his woe;

What pleasure, what treasure,

Unto those rosy lips to grow:

Such was my Chloris' bonnie face,

When first her bonnie face I saw;

And ay my Chloris' dearest charm,

She says she lo'es me best of a'.

Like harmony her motion;

Her pretty ancle is a spy,

Betraying fair proportion,

Wou'd make a saint forget the sky;

Sae warming, sae charming,

Her fautless form and gracefu' air;

Ilk feature -- auld nature

Declar'd that she cou'd do nae mair!

Her's are the willing chains o' love,

By conquering beauty's sov'reign law;

And ay my Chloris' dearest charm,

She says she lo'es me best of a'.

Let others love the city,

And gaudy shew at sunny noon;

Gi'e me the lonely valley,

The dewy eve, the 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'.