The Lass of Cessnock Banks
On Cessnock banks a lassie dwells;
Could I describe her shape and mien;
Our lassies a’ she far excels,
An’ she has twa sparkling, rogueish 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, rogueish een.
She’s stately, like yon youthful ash
That grows the cowslips braes between
And drinks the stream with vigour fresh;
An’ she has twa sparkling, rogueish 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, rogueish een.
Her looks are like the vernal May
When ev’ning Phoebus shines serene,
While birds rejoice on ev’ry spray;
An’ she has twa sparkling, rogueish 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, rogueish een.
Her forehead’s like the show’ry bow
When gleaming sun-beams intervene
And gild the distant mountain’s brow;
An’ she has twa sparkling, rogueish 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, rogueish een.
Her teeth are like the nightly snow
When pale the morning rises keen,
While hid the murmuring streamlets flow;
An’ she has twa sparkling, rogueish een.
Her lips are like yon cherries ripe
Which sunny walls from Boreas screen;
They tempt the taste and charm the sight;
An’ she has twa sparkling, rogueish 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, rogueish 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, rogueish een.
But it’s not her air, her form, her face,
Though matching beauty’s fabled Queen;
’Tis the mind that shines in ev’ry grace,
An’ chiefly in her rogueish een.
