She’s stately like yon youthful ash,
That grows the cowslip braes between,
And drinks the stream with vigour fresh;
An’ she has twa sparkling roguish een.
IV.
She’s spotless like the flow’ring thorn,
With flow’rs so white and leaves so green,
When purest in the dewy morn;
An’ she has twa sparkling roguish een.
V.
Her looks are like the vernal May,
When evening Phœbus shines serene,
While birds rejoice on every spray—
An’ she has twa sparkling roguish een.
VI.
Her hair is like the curling mist
That climbs the mountain-sides at e’en,
When flow’r-reviving rains are past;
An’ she has twa sparkling roguish een.
VII.
Her forehead’s like the show’ry bow,
When gleaming sunbeams intervene,
And gild the distant mountain’s brow;
An’ she has twa sparkling roguish een.
VIII.