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Poem	ON Cessnock banks a lassie dwells; Could I describe her shape and mein; Our lasses a’ she far excels, An’ she has twa sparkling roguish een. She’s sweeter than the morning dawn, When rising Phoebus first is seen, And dew-drops twinkle o’er the lawn; An’ she has twa sparkling roguish een. She’s stately like yon youthful ash, That grows the cowslip braes between, And drinks the stream with vigour fresh; An’ she has twa sparkling roguish een. She’s spotless like the flow’ring thorn, With flow’rs so white and leaves so green, When purest in the dewy morn; An’ she has twa sparkling roguish een. Her looks are like the vernal May, When ev’ning Phoebus shines serene, While birds rejoice on every spray; An’ she has twa sparkling roguish een. Her hair is like the curling mist, That climbs the mountain-sides at e’en, When flow’r-reviving rains are past; An’ she has twa sparkling roguish een. Her forehead’s like the show’ry bow, When gleaming sunbeams intervene And gild the distant mountain’s brow; An’ she has twa sparkling roguish een. Her cheeks are like yon crimson gem, The pride of all the flowery scene, Just opening on its thorny stem; An’ she has twa sparkling roguish een. Her bosom’s like the nightly snow, When pale the morning rises keen, While hid the murm’ring streamlets flow; An’ she has twa sparkling roguish een. Her lips are like yon cherries ripe, That sunny walls from Boreas screen; They tempt the taste and charm the sight; An’ she has twa sparkling roguish een. Her teeth are like a flock of sheep, With fleeces newly washen clean, That slowly mount the rising steep; An’ she has twa sparkling roguish een. Her breath is like the fragrant breeze, That gently stirs the blossom’d bean, When Phoebus sinks behind the seas; An’ she has twa sparkling roguish een. Her voice is like the ev’ning thrush, That sings on Cessnock banks unseen, While his mate sits nestling in the bush; An’ she has twa sparkling roguish een. But it’s not her air, her form, her face, Tho’ matching beauty’s fabled queen; ’Tis the mind that shines in ev’ry grace, An’ chiefly in her roguish een. Note 1. The lass is identified as Ellison Begbie, a servant wench, daughter of a farmer.—Lang. [back]
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