Polwarth on the green

O Marion is a bonny lass,

There's witch'ry in her smile;

And yet by all it is confest,

That Marion's free from guile.

To hear her speak, there's music in't;

To see her dance at e'en,

So light she moves, you'd think you saw

Some Fairy trip the green.

Whene'er she sings, her artless notes

In sweetness far exceed

The echo, that from rock to rock

Repeats the shepherd's reed.

And all the while a wavering blush

On her cheek of beauty glows,

Like a bonny bird that sings half hid

Beneath a dewy rose.