How Sweet the Dewy Bell Is Spread

How sweet the dewy bell is spread
Where Spango's mossy streams are lavin'
The heathery locks o' deepenin' red,
Around the mountain brow aye wavin'!
Here, on the sunny mountain side,
Dear lassie, we 'll lie down thegither;
Where Nature spreads luve's crimson bed,
Among the bonnie bloomin' heather.

Lang hae I wish'd, my lovely maid,
Amang thae fragrant wilds to lead ye;
And now, aneath my tartan plaid,
How blest I lie wi' you aside me!
And art thou happy--dearest, speak--
Wi' me aneath the tartan plaidie?
Yes; that dear glance, sae saft and meek,
Resigns thee to thy shepherd laddie.

The saftness o' the gentle dove,
Its eyes in dying sweetness closin',
Is like thae languid eyes o' love,
Sae fondly on my heart reposin'.
When simmer suns the flowers expand,
In a' their silken beauties shinin',
They 're no sae saft as thy white hand,
Upon my love-warm cheek reclinin'.

While thus, aneath my tartan plaid,
Sae warmly to my lips I press ye;
That hinnied bloom o' dewy red
Is nocht like thy sweet lips, dear lassie!
Reclined on love's soft crimson bed,
Our hearts sae fondly lock'd thegither;
Thus o'er my cheek thy ringlets spread,
How happy, happy 'mang the heather!