Of Alison Begbie he wrote in 'The Lass o' Cessnock Banks':
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, And chiefly in her rogueish een.
In 'Young Peggy Blooms' he describes her:
Young Peggy blooms our bonniest lass, Her blush is like the morning, The rosy dawn, the springing grass With early gems adorning. Her eyes outshine the radiant beams That gild the passing shower, And glitter o'er the crystal streams, And cheer each fresh'ning flower.
In 'Will Ye Go to the Indies, My Mary?' he says:
O sweet grows the lime and the orange, And the apple o' the pine; But a' the charms o' the Indies Can never equal thine.
The following are emblems of beauty in the 'Lass o' Ballochmyle':
Her look was like the morning's eye, Her air like Nature's vernal smile.
Fair is the morn in flowery May, And sweet is night in autumn mild.
Her face is fair, her heart is true; As spotless as she's bonnie, O; The opening gowan, wat wi' dew, daisy Nae purer is than Nannie O.
In 'The Birks [birches] of Aberfeldy' he speaks to his lover of 'Summer blinking on flowery braes' and 'Playing o'er the crystal streamlets;' and the 'Blythe singing o' the little birdies' and 'The braes o'erhung wi' fragrant woods' and 'The hoary cliffs crowned wi' flowers;' and 'The streamlet pouring over a waterfall.' Love and Nature were united in his heart.
In 'Blythe was She' he describes the lady by saying she was like beautiful things:
Her bonnie face it was as meek As any lamb upon a lea;
He wrote 'O' a' the Airts the Wind can Blaw' about Jean Armour after they were married, while he was building their home on Ellisland. He says in this exquisite song:
By day and night my fancy's flight Is ever wi' my Jean.
I see her in the dewy flowers, I see her sweet and fair; I hear her in the tunefu' birds, I hear her charm the air: There's not a bonnie flower that springs By fountain, shaw, or green; woodland There's not a bonnie bird that sings, But minds me o' my Jean.
It is na, Jean, thy bonnie face, Nor shape that I admire; Although thy beauty and thy grace Might weel awake desire. Something in ilka part o' thee To praise, to love, I find; But dear as is thy form to me, Still dearer is thy mind.