lass of cessnock banks, the 注释标题 the lass is identified as ellison begbie, a servant wench, daughter of a “farmer lang”.
    a song of similes
    tune—“if he be a butcher neat and trim.”
    on cessnock banks a lassie dwells;
    could i describe her shape and mein;
    our lasses a' she far excels,
    an' she has twa sparkling roguish een.
    she's sweeter than the morning dawn,
    when rising phoebus first is seen,
    and dew-drops twinkle o'er the lawn;
    an' she has twa sparkling roguish een.
    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.
    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.
    her looks are like the vernal may,
    when ev'ning phoebus shines serene,
    while birds rejoice on every spray;
    an' she has twa sparkling roguish een.
    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.
    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.
    her cheeks are like yon crimson gem,
    the pride of all the flowery scene,
    just opening on its thorny stem;
    an' she has twa sparkling roguish een.
    her bosom's like the nightly snow,
    when pale the morning rises keen,
    while hid the murm'ring streamlets flow;
    an' she has twa sparkling roguish een.
    her lips are like yon cherries ripe,
    that sunny walls from boreas screen;
    they tempt the taste and charm the sight;
    an' she has twa sparkling roguish een.
    her teeth are like a flock of sheep,
    with fleeces newly washen clean,
    that slowly mount the rising steep;
    an' she has twa sparkling roguish een.
    her breath is like the fragrant breeze,
    that gently stirs the blossom'd bean,
    when phoebus sinks behind the seas;
    an' she has twa sparkling roguish een.
    her voice is like the ev'ning thrush,
    that sings on cessnock banks unseen,
    while his mate sits nestling in the bush;
    an' she has twa sparkling roguish een.
    but it's not her air, her form, her face,
    tho' matching beauty's fabled queen;
    'tis the mind that shines in ev'ry grace,
    an' chiefly in her roguish een.