The Book of Scottish Song/The Maid o' Montrose

The Maid o' Montrose.

[Alex. Laing.—Air, "O tell me the way for to woo."—Here first published.]

O sweet is the calm dewy gloaming,
When saftly, by Rossie-wood brae,
The merle an' mavis are hymning!
The e'en o' the lang summer's day!
An' sweet are the moments, when o'er the blue ocean.
The full moon arising m majesty glows;
An' I, breathing o'er ilka tender emotion
Wi' my lovely Mary, the maid o' Montrose.

The fopling sae fine an' sae airy,
Sae fondly in love wi' himsel',
Is proud wi' his ilka new deary,
To shine at the fair an' the ball,
But gi'e me the grove where the broom's yellow blossom,
Waves o'er the white lily an' red smiling rose
An' ae bonnie lassie to lean on my bosom,
My ain lovely Mary, the maid o' Montrose.

O what is the haill warld's treasure,
Gin nane o' its pleasures we prove,
An' where can we taste o' true pleasure
Gin nae wi' the lassie we love.
O sweet are the smiles an' the dimples o' beauty,
Where lurking the loves an' the graces repose,
An' sweet is the form an' the air o' the pretty,
But sweeter is Mary, the maid o' Montrose.

Mary, 'tis nae for thy beauty,
Though few are sae bonnie as thee:
O Mary, 'tis nae for thy beauty,
Though handsome as woman can be.
The rose' bloom is gane when the chill autumn's low'ring;
The aik's stately form when the wild winter blows:
But the charms o' thy mind are the ties mair enduring—
These bind me to Mary, the maid o' Montrose.

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