SLEEPST thou, or wakst thou, fairest creature?
Rosy morn now lifts his eye,
Numbering ilka bud which Nature
Waters wi the tears o joy.
Now, to the streaming fountain,
Or up the heathy mountain,
The hart, hind, and roe, freely, wildly-wanton stray;
In twining hazel bowers,
Its lay the linnet pours,
The laverock to the sky
Ascends, wi sangs o joy,
While the sun and thou arise to bless the day.
Phoebus gilding the brow of morning,
Banishes ilk darksome shade,
Nature, gladdening and adorning;
Such to me my lovely maid.
When frae my Chloris parted,
Sad, cheerless, broken-hearted,
The nights gloomy shades, cloudy, dark, oercast my sky:
But when she charms my sight,
In pride of Beautys light
When thro my very heart
Her burning glories dart;
Tis thentis then I wake to life and joy!
