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.