the ss o&039; ballochyle
tune—“ettrick banks”
&039;as even—the dewy fields were green,
on every bde the pearls hang;
the zephyr wanton&039;d round the bean,
and bore its fragrant sweets ang:
ev&039;ry glen the avis sang,
all nature list&039;ng see&039;d the while,
except where greenwood echoes rang,
aang the braes o&039; ballochyle
with careless step i onward stray&039;d,
y heart rejoic&039;d nature&039;s joy,
when, g a lonely gde,
a aiden fair i chanc&039;d to spy:
her look was like the orng&039;s eye,
her air like nature&039;s vernal sile:
perfection whisper&039;d, passg by,
“behold the ss o&039; ballochyle!”
fair is the orn flowery ay,
and sweet is night autun ild;
when rovg thro&039; the garden gay,
or wand&039;rg the lonely wild:
but woan, nature&039;s darlg child!
there all her chars she does pile;
even there her other works are foil&039;d
by the bonie ss o&039; ballochyle
o, had she been a untry aid,
and i the happy untry swa,
tho&039; shelter&039;d the lowest shed
that ever rose on stnd&039;s p!
thro&039; weary ter&039;s d and ra,
with joy, with rapture, i would toil;
and nightly to y bo stra
the bonie ss o&039; ballochyle
then pride ight clib the slipp&039;ry steep,
where fra and honours lofty she;
and thirst of gold ight tept the deep,
or downward seek the dian e:
give the t below the pe,
to tend the flocks or till the il;
and ev&039;ry day have joys dive
with the bonie ss o&039; ballochyle
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