How sweetly smells the simmer green;
⁠Sweet taste the peach and cherry;
Painting and order please our een,
⁠And claret makes us merry:
But finest colours, fruits and flowers,
⁠And wine, though I be thirsty,
Lose a' their charms, and weaker powers,
⁠Compar'd wi' those of Chirsty.

When wand'ring o'er the flow'ry park,
⁠No natural beauty wanting;
How lightsome is't to hear the lark,
⁠And birds in concert chanting!
But if my Chirsty tunes her voice,
⁠I'm rapt in admiration;
My thoughts wi' ecstasies rejoice,
⁠And drap the haill creation.

Whene'er she smiles a kindly glance,
⁠I take the happy omen,
And aften mint to make advance,
⁠Hoping she'll prove a woman.
But, dubious of my ain desert,
⁠My sentiments I smother,
Wi' secret sighs I vex my heart,
⁠For fear she love another.

​Thus sang blate Edie by a burn,
⁠His Chirsty did o'er-hear him;
She doughtna let her lover mourn;
⁠But, ere he wist, drew near him.
She spak' her favour wi' a look,
⁠Which left nae room to doubt her:
He wisely this white minute took,
⁠And flang his arms about her.

My Chirsty! witness, bonny stream,
⁠Sic joys frae tears arising!
I wish this may na be a dream
⁠O love the maist surprising!
Time was too precious now for tauk,
⁠This point of a' his wishes
He wad na wi' set speeches bauk,
⁠But wair'd it a' on kisses.