she says she loes me best of a'
    tune—“oonagh's waterfall.”
    sae flaxen were her ringlets,
    her eyebrows of a darker hue,
    bewitchingly o'er-arching
    twa laughing e'en o' lovely blue;
    her smiling, sae wyling.
    wad make a wretch forget his woe;
    what pleasure, what treasure,
    unto these rosy lips to grow!
    such was my chloris' bonie face,
    when first that bonie face i saw;
    and aye my chloris' dearest charm—
    she says, she lo'es me best of a'.
    like harmony her motion,
    her pretty ankle is a spy,
    betraying fair proportion,
    wad make a saint forget the sky:
    sae warming, sae charming,
    her faultless form and gracefu' air;
    ilk feature—auld nature
    declar'd that she could do nae mair:
    hers are the willing chains o' love,
    by conquering beauty's sovereign law;
    and still my chloris' dearest charm—
    she says, she lo'es me best of a'.
    let others love the city,
    and gaudy show, at sunny noon;
    gie me the lonely valley,
    the dewy eve and rising moon,
    fair beaming, and streaming,
    her silver light the boughs amang;
    while falling; recalling,
    the amorous thrush concludes his sang;
    there, dearest chloris, wilt thou rove,
    by wimpling burn and leafy shaw,
    and hear my vows o' truth and love,
    and say, thou lo'es me best of a'.