There was a lass, and she was fair !
At kirk and market to be seen
When a' our fairest maids were met,
The fairest maid was bonnie Jean.

And ay she wrought her mammie's wark,
And ay she sang sae merrilie :
The blythest bird upon the bush
Had ne'er a lighter heart than she.

But hawks will rob the tender joys,
That bliss the little lintwhite's nest,
And frost will blight the fairest flowers,
And love will break the soundest rest.

 ... 

He gaed wi' Jeanie to the tryste,
He danc'd wi' Jeanie on the down,
And, lang ere witless Jeanie wist,
Her heart was tint, her peace was stown!

As in the bosom of the stream
The moon-beam dwells at dewy e'en,
So trembling pure, was tender love
Within the breast of bonnie Jean.

 ... 

The sun was sinking in the west,
The birds sang sweet in ilka grove;
His cheek to her's he fondly laid,
And whisper'd thus his tale o' love.