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.
O, no! I may not love thee now,
As when thou wert the witching quean
That charm'd my heart, I wot not how,
And I could sing my lovely Jean:—
I may not now so praise thy een,
And say that they the stars outshine;
The love we felt at gay eighteen
Is not like that of Thirty-nine.
Thy matron lip I may not kiss,
As when the cherry ripen'd there;
Nor say, that in thy smile is bliss,
Thy bosom more than lily fair;
Nor play me with thy tressed hair,
And round thy brow sweet roses twine;
Nor with an angel thee compare,
With fading charms at Thirty-nine.
And yet I love thee with a love
That cannot fade or pass away;
And time alone such love can prove,
As orient sunshine proves the day.
Sweet wert thou in thy maiden May!
And all its balmy blooms were mine;
When gently now these flowers decay,
Truth makes us friends at Thirty-nine.