I.

O how shall I, unskilfu', try The poet's occupation, The tunefu' powers, in happy hours, That whispers inspiration? Even they maun dare an effort mair, Than aught they ever gave us, Or they rehearse, in equal verse, The charms o' lovely Davies. Each eye it cheers, when she appears, Like Phoebus in the morning. When past the shower, and ev'ry flower The garden is adorning. As the wretch looks o'er Siberia's shore, When winter-bound the wave is; Sae droops our heart when we maun part Frae charming lovely Davies.