John Hay’s bony Lassie, p.71.

[Tea-Table Miscellany Contents]

BY smooth winding Tay a swain was reclining, 

Aft cry’d he, Oh hey! maun I still live pining 

My sell thus away, and darna discover 

To my bony Hay that I am her lover? 


Nae mair it will hide, the fame waxes stranger; 

If she’s not my bride, my days are nae langer: 

Then I’ll take a heart, and try at a venture, 

May be, e’er we part, my vows may content her. 


She’s fresh as the spring, and sweet as Aurora

When birds mount and sing, bidding day a good mor- 

The sward of the mead, enamel’d with daisies, (row: 

Look wither’d and dead, when twin’d of her graces. 


But if she appear where verdures invite her 

The fountains run clear, and flowers smell the sweeter: 

‘Tis heaven to be by, when her wit is a flowing, 

Her smiles and bright eye set my spirits a glowing. 


The mair that I gaze the deeper I’m wounded; 

Struck dumb with amaze, my mind is confounded: 

I’m all in a fire, dear maid, to caress ye, 

For a’ my desire is Hay’s bony lassie. 

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