lass of cessnock banks, the 注释标题 the lass is identified as ellison begbie, a servant wench, daughter of a “farmer lang”.
  a song of similes
  tune—“if he be a butcher neat and trim.”
  on cessnock banks a lassie dwells;
  could i describe her shape and mein;
  our lasses a' she far excels,
  an' she has twa sparkling roguish een.
  she's sweeter than the morning dawn,
  when rising phoebus first is seen,
  and dew-drops twinkle o'er the lawn;
  an' she has twa sparkling roguish een.
  she's stately like yon youthful ash,
  that grows the cowslip braes between,
  and drinks the stream with vigour fresh;
  an' she has twa sparkling roguish een.
  she's spotless like the flow'ring thorn,
  with flow'rs so white and leaves so green,
  when purest in the dewy morn;
  an' she has twa sparkling roguish een.
  her looks are like the vernal may,
  when ev'ning phoebus shines serene,
  while birds rejoice on every spray;
  an' she has twa sparkling roguish een.
  her hair is like the curling mist,
  that climbs the mountain-sides at e'en,
  when flow'r-reviving rains are past;
  an' she has twa sparkling roguish een.
  her forehead's like the show'ry bow,
  when gleaming sunbeams intervene
  and gild the distant mountain's brow;
  an' she has twa sparkling roguish een.
  her cheeks are like yon crimson gem,
  the pride of all the flowery scene,
  just opening on its thorny stem;
  an' she has twa sparkling roguish een.
  her bosom's like the nightly snow,
  when pale the morning rises keen,
  while hid the murm'ring streamlets flow;
  an' she has twa sparkling roguish een.
  her lips are like yon cherries ripe,
  that sunny walls from boreas screen;
  they tempt the taste and charm the sight;
  an' she has twa sparkling roguish een.
  her teeth are like a flock of sheep,
  with fleeces newly washen clean,
  that slowly mount the rising steep;
  an' she has twa sparkling roguish een.
  her breath is like the fragrant breeze,
  that gently stirs the blossom'd bean,
  when phoebus sinks behind the seas;
  an' she has twa sparkling roguish een.
  her voice is like the ev'ning thrush,
  that sings on cessnock banks unseen,
  while his mate sits nestling in the bush;
  an' she has twa sparkling roguish een.
  but it's not her air, her form, her face,
  tho' matching beauty's fabled queen;
  'tis the mind that shines in ev'ry grace,
  an' chiefly in her roguish een.