As in the bosom o’ the stream,
The moon-beam dwells at dewy e’en;
So trembling, pure, was tender love
Within the breast o’ bonnie Jean.
VII.
And now she works her mammie’s wark,
And ay she sighs wi’ care and pain;
Yet wist na what her ail might be,
Or what wad mak her weel again.
VIII.
But did na Jeanie’s heart loup light,
And did na joy blink in her e’e,
As Robie tauld a tale of love,
Ae e’enin’ on the lily lea?
IX.
The sun was sinking in the west,
The birds sung sweet in ilka grove;
His cheek to hers he fondly prest,
And whisper’d thus his tale o’ love:
X.
O Jeanie fair, I lo’e thee dear;
O canst thou think to fancy me!
Or wilt thou leave thy mammie’s cot,
And learn to tent the farms wi’ me?
XI.