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.
By smooth-winding Tay a swain was reclining,
Aft cried he, Oh, hey! maun I still live pining
Mysel' thus away, and daurna discover
To my bonnie Hay, that I am her lover.
Nae mair it will hide; the flame waxes stranger;
If she"s not my bride, my days are nae langer:
Then I'll take a heart, and try at a venture;
May be, ere we part, my vows may content her.
She's fresh as the spring, and sweet as Aurora,
When birds mount and sing, bidding day a good morrow:
The sward of the mead, enamell'd with daisies,
Looks wither'd and dead, when twined of her graces.
But if she appear where verdure invite her,
The fountains run clear, and the flowers smell the sweeter,
'Tis heaven to be by, when her wit is a-flowing:
Her smiles and bright eyes set my spirits a-glowing.
The mair that I gaze, the deeper I'm wounded:
Struck dumb with amaze, my mind is confounded:
I'm all in a fire, dear maid, to caress ye;
For a' my desire is John Hay's bonnie lassie.