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.
Ye watchful guardians of the fair,
Who skiff on wings of ambient air,
Of my dear Delia take a care,
And represent her lover
With all the gaiety of youth,
With honour, justice, love, and truth;
Till I return, her passions soothe,
For me in whispers move her.
Be careful no base sordid slave,
With soul sunk in a golden grave,
Who knows no virtue but to save,
With glaring gold bewitch her.
Tell her, for me she was design'd,
For me who knew how to be kind,
And have mair plenty in my mind,
Than ane who's ten times richer.
Let all the world turn upside down,
And fools rin an eternal round,
In quest of what can ne'er be found,
To please their vain ambition;
Let little minds great charms espy,
In shadows which at distance lie,
Whose hop'd-for pleasure when come nigh,
Proves nothing in fruition:
But cast into a mould divine,
Fair Delia does with lustre shine,
Her virtuous soul's an ample mine,
Which yields a constant treasure.
Let poets in sublimest lays,
Employ their skill her fame to raise;
Let sons of music pass whole days,
With well-tuned reeds to please her.