How sweetly smells the simmer green!
Sweet taste the peach and cherry;
Painting and order please our een,
And claret makes us merry:
But finest colours, fruits and flowers,
And wine, tho' I be thirsty,
Lose a' their charms and weaker powers,
Compar'd with those of Chirsty.

When wand'ring o'er the flow'ry park,
No nat'ral beauty wanting,
How lightsome is 't to hear the lark,
And birds in concert chanting!
But if my Chirsty tunes her voice,
I 'm wrapt in admiration,
My thoughts with extasies rejoice,
And drap the hale creation.

Whene'er she smiles a kindly glance,
I take the happy omen,
And aften mint to make advance,
Hoping she 'll prove a woman;
But dubious of my ain desert,
My sentiments I smother,
With secret sighs I vex my heart,
For fear she love another.

Thus sang blate Edie by a burn,
His Chirsty did o'erhear him;
She doughtna-let her lover mourn,
But, ere he wist, drew near him.
She spake her favour with a look,
Which left nae room to doubt her:
He wisely this white minute took,
And flang his arms about her.

My Chirsty! — witness, bonny stream,
Sic joys frae tears arising!
I wish this may not be a dream;
O love the maist surprising!
Time was too precious now for tauk;
This point of a' his wishes
He wad na with set speeches bauk,
But wair'd it a' on kisses.