Her a sweet revelation as when in a dream,
Through wild variations of trouble and fear,
You suddenly feel that an angel is near.
Now guess, if you can, without half of that frown,
For to me she’s the prettiest girl in the town.
The poets all sing of these quaint Highland girls
With enchanting dimples and loose tangled curls;
Or they weave a love-tale from her budding lip’s glow
While chasing the reindeer o’er mountains of snow;
This is only the skill of a well tinctured pen,