The sunny days are come, my love,
The gowan 's on the lea,
And fragrant flow'rs wi' hiney'd lips,
Invite the early bee;
The scented winds are whisp'ring by,
The lav'rock 's on the wing,
The lintie on the dewy spray
Gars glen and woodland ring.
The sunny days are come, my love,
The primrose decks the brae,
The vi'let in its rainbow robe
Bends to the noontide ray;
The cuckoo in her trackless bower
Has waken'd from her dream;
The shadows o' the new-born leaves
Are waving in the stream.
The sunny days are come, my love,
The swallow skims the lake,
As o'er its glassy bosom clear
The insect cloudlets shake.
The heart of nature throbs with joy
At love and beauty's sway;
The meanest creeping thing of earth
Shares in her ecstasy.
Then come wi' me my bonny Bell,
And rove Gleniffer o'er,
And ye shall lend a brighter tint
To sunshine and to flower;
And ye shall tell the heart ye 've won
A blessing or a wae—
Awake a summer in my breast,
Or bid hope's flowers decay.
For spring may spread her mantle green,
O'er mountain, dell, and lea,
And summer burst in every hue
Wi' smiles and melody,
To me the sun were beamless, love,
And scentless ilka flower,
Gin ye were no this heart's bright sun,
Its music and its bower.
OH, MY LOVE WAS FAIR.
Oh, my love was fair as the siller clud
That sleeps in the smile o' dawn;
An' her een were bricht as the crystal bells
That spangle the blossom'd lawn:
An' warm as the sun was her kind, kind heart,
That glow'd 'neath a faemy sea;
But I fear'd, by the tones o' her sweet, sweet voice,
That my love was nae for me.
Oh, my love was gay as the summer time,
When the earth is bricht an' gled,
An' fresh as the spring when the young buds blaw,
In their sparkling pearl-draps cled:
An' her hair was like chains o' the sunset sheen
That hangs 'tween the lift an' sea;
But I fear'd, by the licht that halo'd her face,
That my love was nae for me.
Oh, my love was sweet as the violet flower
That waves by the moss-grown stane,
An' her lips were rich as the rowans red
That hang in forest lane;
An' her broo was a dreamy hill o' licht,
That struck ane dumb to see;
But I fear'd, by signs that canna be named,
That my love was nae for me.