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.