A WAKE , lovely Alice, the dawn's on the hill,
The voice of the mavis is heard by the rill,
The blackbird is singing his song in the brake,
And the green woods are ringing — awake, love, awake!

The wild rose is blushing, the pea is in bloom,
The zephyr is brushing the long yellow broom;
But thy voice is far sweeter than bird's on the tree,
And joy is far deeper, sweet Alice, with thee.

The voice of lone Locher comes mellow and sweet,
But sweeter to me were the fa' o' thy feet;
The hawthorn is hoary and rich with perfume,
But thou art the glory of nature in bloom.

Far deeper the joy, love, would nature impart
Were I but the lord of thine innocent heart;
And 'neath fortune's malice I ne'er would repine,
Wert thou, lovely Alice, oh, wert thou but mine!