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!