This text comes from The Book of Scottish Song, edited by Alexander Whitelaw, a historical songbook transcribed on Wikisource and reproduced from the pinned revision linked below.
How sweetly smells the simmer green;
Sweet taste the peach and cherry;
Painting and order please our een,
And claret makes us merry:
But finest colours, fruits and flowers,
And wine, though I be thirsty,
Lose a' their charms, and weaker powers,
Compar'd wi' those of Chirsty.
When wand'ring o'er the flow'ry park,
No natural beauty wanting;
How lightsome is't to hear the lark,
And birds in concert chanting!
But if my Chirsty tunes her voice,
I'm rapt in admiration;
My thoughts wi' ecstasies rejoice,
And drap the haill creation.
Whene'er she smiles a kindly glance,
I take the happy omen,
And aften mint to make advance,
Hoping she'll prove a woman.
But, dubious of my ain desert,
My sentiments I smother,
Wi' secret sighs I vex my heart,
For fear she love another.
Thus sang blate Edie by a burn,
His Chirsty did o'er-hear him;
She doughtna let her lover mourn;
But, ere he wist, drew near him.
She spak' her favour wi' a look,
Which left nae room to doubt her:
He wisely this white minute took,
And flang his arms about her.
My Chirsty! witness, bonny stream,
Sic joys frae tears arising!
I wish this may na be a dream
O love the maist surprising!
Time was too precious now for tauk,
This point of a' his wishes
He wad na wi' set speeches bauk,
But wair'd it a' on kisses.