In Roslin's bowers bloom fragrant flowers,
On Yarrow's banks they're mony;
Whar Kirtle flows ance stately rose
The sweetest flower o' ony!
I've travelled east, I've travelled west,
I've been 'mang groves o' myrtle;
Tho' flowers bloomed fair, nane could compare
Wi' the sweet Rose o' Kirtle.

In secret glade it raised its head,
And fair its leaves spread blooming!
And as they spread, they fragrance shed
A' Kirtle's banks perfuming!
Lured by its fame, the young anes came
(Some came frae west the Shannon)
And ilk ane swore, nae flower before
Bloomed like the rose o' Annan.

But wise anes knew a death-worm grew
Deep at its roots consuming;
And while they sigh'd, they mournfu' cried,
'The rose will fade that's blooming!'
'Twas then Fate said, 'frae native glade
We'll pu' the pride o' Kirtle;
In warmer bower we'll plant the flower,
And skreen it round wi' myrtle.'

Sae, Fate updrew the flower, and flew
Where Mersey's stream runs flowing;
There, skreen'd frae harm, they plant it warm,
For there love's beams were glowing!
Fair, fair it spread! and gratefu' shed
Its healing balms, sweet smelling!
And as they flew, affliction knew
Blest health was near his dwelling.

Oh! had ye been where I hae seen
This rose 'mang myrtles blooming,
Ye wad hae sworn nae canker worm
Was fast its roots consuming :
But, welladay! looks will betray!
And death love's joys will sever!
Ere midnight hour, death nipt the flower!
Its sweets are - gane for ever!

Ye, wha can smile at Life's fause guile,
While health's warm sun shines beamy,
Learn, that the flower o' Mersey's bower
Was Lucy's peerless Jemmie;
And ye wha mourn at Currie's urn,
Or weep by Mersey's river,
Learn, that the rose that virtue blows,
Though dead, will - bloom for ever.