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the seaside village.
But the stranger, wi' delicate tact, set a' right,
An' the widow's embarrassment soon put to flight,
Then, wi' relish fu' keen an' wi' manners fo' free,
Sat him down wi' the widow an' dochter to tea;
An' aye, as on Maggie would rest his dark een,
They plainly pronounced her a braw, bounnie queen.
Puir Maggie was bonnie—surpassin'ly fair,
W1' een o' dark azure, an' rich gowden hair,
Though poortith had garr'd her cheek's bright roses fade,
An' had gi'en to her een a soft languishin' shade;
An' her fair form array'd in the humblest apparel,
It couldna dispoil o' its glory ilk curl
Wi' which her young head was luxuriantly crown'd—
A glad halo glowin' her sad face around;
An' Maggie was blate to an unco degree,
For ne'er a companion but mither had she.
No visitor ca'd on the dolefu' an' lane—
The rich have friends many, but poortith has nane;—
Sae the beauty an' bashfu'ness meetin' his view,
To the weel-travell'd stranger was pleasant as new.
Next morn saw him strollin', as trig as the lave,
Inhalin' the caller breeze sweepin' the wave,
An', ettlin' some village acquaintance to mak',
Gi'en a word to ilk passer, but gettin' nane back:
Then wi' broo on which gathered a thunder-like cloud,
A' alane on the thick-peopled seaside he stood,
When his een caught a glimpse o' a sun-shelter'd seat,
Where smilin'-faced leddies enjoyed the retreat.
An' the widow's embarrassment soon put to flight,
Then, wi' relish fu' keen an' wi' manners fo' free,
Sat him down wi' the widow an' dochter to tea;
An' aye, as on Maggie would rest his dark een,
They plainly pronounced her a braw, bounnie queen.
Puir Maggie was bonnie—surpassin'ly fair,
W1' een o' dark azure, an' rich gowden hair,
Though poortith had garr'd her cheek's bright roses fade,
An' had gi'en to her een a soft languishin' shade;
An' her fair form array'd in the humblest apparel,
It couldna dispoil o' its glory ilk curl
Wi' which her young head was luxuriantly crown'd—
A glad halo glowin' her sad face around;
An' Maggie was blate to an unco degree,
For ne'er a companion but mither had she.
No visitor ca'd on the dolefu' an' lane—
The rich have friends many, but poortith has nane;—
Sae the beauty an' bashfu'ness meetin' his view,
To the weel-travell'd stranger was pleasant as new.
Next morn saw him strollin', as trig as the lave,
Inhalin' the caller breeze sweepin' the wave,
An', ettlin' some village acquaintance to mak',
Gi'en a word to ilk passer, but gettin' nane back:
Then wi' broo on which gathered a thunder-like cloud,
A' alane on the thick-peopled seaside he stood,
When his een caught a glimpse o' a sun-shelter'd seat,
Where smilin'-faced leddies enjoyed the retreat.
