Oh! little lock of golden hue
In gently waving ringlet curl'd,
By the dear head on which you grew,
I would not lose you for 'a world'.
Not though a thousand more adorn
The polished brow where once you shone,
Like rays which guild a cloudless sky i
Beneath Columbia's fervid zone.
Footnote 1: These lines are preserved in MS. at Newstead, with the following memorandum in Miss Pigot's handwriting: "Copied from the fly-leaf in a vol. of my Burns' books, which is written in pencil by himself." They have hitherto been printed as stanzas 5 and 6 of the lines "To a Lady," etc., p. 212.
'a cloudless morn'.