song.—o, were i on parnassus hill
    tune—“my love is lost to me.”
    o, were i on parnassus hill,
    or had o' helicon my fill,
    that i might catch poetic skill,
    to sing how dear i love thee!
    but nith maun be my muse's well,
    my muse maun be thy bonie sel',
    on corsincon i'll glowr and spell,
    and write how dear i love thee.
    then come, sweet muse, inspire my lay!
    for a' the lee-lang simmer's day
    i couldna sing, i couldna say,
    how much, how dear, i love thee,
    i see thee dancing o'er the green,
    thy waist sae jimp, thy limbs sae clean,
    thy tempting lips, thy roguish een—
    by heaven and earth i love thee!
    by night, by day, a-field, at hame,
    the thoughts o' thee my breast inflame:
    and aye i muse and sing thy name—
    i only live to love thee.
    tho' i were doom'd to wander on,
    beyond the sea, beyond the sun,
    till my last weary sand was run;
    till then—and then i love thee!