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Sleep'st thou, or wauk'st thou, fairest creature; Rosy morn now lifts his eye, Numbering ilka bud which Nature Waters wi' the tears o' joy. Now, to the streaming fountain, Or up the heathy mountain, The hart, hind, and roe, freely, wanton stray; In twining hazel bowers, His lay the linnet pours; The laverock to the sky Ascends, wi' sangs o' joy, While the sun and thou arise to bless the day. Phebus, gilding the brow of morning, Banishes ilk darksome shade, Nature gladdening and adorning; Such to me my lovely maid. When frae my Chloris parted, Sad, cheerless, broken-hearted, Then night's gloomy shades o'ercast my sky: But when she charms my sight, In pride of Beauty's light; When through my very heart, Her beaming glories dart; 'Tis then - 'tis then I wake to life and joy!