The Catrine woods were yellow seen,
The flowers decay’d on Catrine lee,
Nae lav’rock sang on hillock green,
But nature sicken’d on the e’e.
Thro’ faded groves Maria sang,
Hersel’ in beauty’s bloom the while;
And aye the wild-wood ehoes rang,
Fareweel the braes o’ Ballochmyle!
Lowin your wintry beds, ye flowers,
Again ye’ll flourish fresh and fair;
Ye birdies dumb, in with’ring bowers,
Again ye’ll charm the vocal air.
Buthere, alas! for me naemair
Shall birdiecharm, orfloweret smile;
Fareweel the bonie banks of Ayr,
Fareweel, fareweel! sweet Ballochmyle!
Fragment-Her Flowing Locks
Her flowing locks, the raven’s wing,
Adown her neck and bosom hing;
How sweet unto that breast to cling,
And round that neck entwine her!
Her lips are roses watwi’dew,
O’what a feast her boniemou’!
Her cheeks a maircelestial hue,
A crimson still diviner!