4
For there the bonnie lassie lives,
The lass that I loo best;
Tho' wild woods grow, and rivers row,
Wi' monie a hill between,
Baith day and night, my fancy's flight
Is ever wi' my Jean.
I see her in the dewy flow'r,
Sae lovely, sweet, and fair;
I hear her voice in ilka bird,
Wi' music charm the air;
There's not a bonnie flow'r that springs,
By fountain, shaw, or green,
Nor yet a bonnie bird that sings,
But minds me o' my Jean.
Upon the banks o' flowing Clyde
The lasses busk them braw;
But when their best they hae put on,
My Jeanie dings them a';
In hamely weeds she far exceeds
The fairest o' the town;
Baith sage and gay confess it say,
Tho' drest in russet gown.
The gamesome lamb, that sucks its dam,
Mair harmless canna be;
She has nae faut, (if sic ye ca't,)
Except her love for me:
The sparkling dew, o' clearest hue,
