LOVELY JEAN.
OF a’ the airts the win’ can blaw,
I dearly like the west;
For there the bonny lassie lives,
The lass that I lo’e best;
Tho’ wild woods grow, an rivers row,
Wi’ mony a hill between,
Baith day an’ night my fancy’s fligh
Is ever wi’ my Jean.
I see her in the dewy flower,
Sae lovely, sweet, an’ fair;
I hear her voice in ilka bird,
Wi’ music charm the air;
There’s not a bonny flow’r that springs,
By fountain shaw or green,
Nor yet a bonny bird that sings,
But minds me o’ my Jean.
Upon the banks of 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 of the town;
Baith grave and gay confess it sae,
Tho’ dress'd in russet gown.
