Oh, My Love 's Bonnie

Oh! my love's bonnie, bonnie, bonnie;
Oh! my love's bonnie and dear to me;
The smile o' her face, and her e'e's witchin' grace,
Are mair than the wealth o' this warld can gie.

Her voice is as sweet as the blackbird at gloamin',
When echo repeats her soft notes to the ear,
And lovely and fresh as the wild roses blooming,
That dip in the stream o' the Carron so clear.

But poortith 's a foe to the peace o' this bosom,
That glows sae devoutly, dear lassie, for thee;
Alas! that e'er poortith should blight love's young blossom,
When riches nae lasting contentment can gie.

Yet hope's cheerfu' sun shall aboon my head hover,
And guide a lone wanderer, when far frae thee;
For ne'er, till it sets, will I prove a false lover,
Or think o' anither, dear lassie, but thee.