S ON G.

Tune, Corn rigs are bonie,

I.

It was upon a Lammas night,

When corn rigs are bonie,
Beneath the moon's unclouded light,
I held awa to Annie:

The time flew by, wi' tentless head,
Till 'tween the late and early;
Wi' fma' perfuafion she agreed,
To fee me thro' the barley.

II.

The fky was blue, the wind was ftill,
The moon was fhining clearly;
1 fet her down, wi' right good will,
Amang the rigs o' barley:

I kent her heart was a' my ain;

I lov'd her moft fincerely; Iker owre and owre again, Amang the rigs o' barley.

III.

I lock'd her in my fond embrace;
Her heart was beating rarely:
My bleffings on that happy place,
Amang the rigs o' barley!

But by the moon and stars fo bright,
That fhone that hour fo clearly!
She ay fhall blefs that happy night,
Amang the rigs o' barley,

IV.

I hae been blythe with comrades dear;
I hae been merry drinking;
I hae been joyfu' gath`ring gear; .
I hae been happy thinking:
But a' the pleafures e'er I faw,

Tho' three times doubl'd fairly, That happy night was worth them a', Amang the rigs o' barley.

CHOR U S.

Corn rigs, au' barley rigs,

An' corn rigs are bonie:

I'll ne'er forget that happy night,
Amang the rigs wi' Annie.

SON G,

COMPOSED IN AUGUST.

Tune, I had a horfe, I had nae mair.

I.

Now weftlin winds, and slaughtʼring guns

Bring Autumn's pleasant weather;
The Moorcock springs on whirring wings,
Amang the blooming heather:

Now waving grain, wide o'er the plain,
Delights the weary Farmer;

And the moon fhines bright, when I rove at night,

To mufe upon my

Charmer.

II.

The Patridge loves the fruitful fells;

The Plover loves the mountains;
The Woodcock haunts the lonely dells;
The foaring Hera the fountains:
Thro' lofty groves the Cufhat roves,
The path of man to fhun it;
The hazel bufa o'erhangs the Thruh,.
The fpreading thorn the Linnet,

III.

Thus ev'ry kind their pleasure find,

The favage and the tender;

Some focial join, and leagues combine;

Some folitary wander :

Avaunt, away! the cruel fway,
Tyrannic man's dominion;

The Sportsman's joy, the murd'ring cry,
The fluttering, gory pinion!

IV.

But, Peggy dear, the ev'ning's clear,
Thick flies the fkimming Swallow;
The fky is blue, the fields in view,
All fading-green and yellow :
Come let us ftray our gladsome way,

And view the charms of Nature;

The rustling corn, the fruited thorn,
And ev'ry happy creature.

V.

We'll gently walk, and fweetly talk,
Till the filent moon fhine clearly;
I'll grasp thy waift, and, fondly prest,
Swear how I love thee dearly:
Not vernal fhow'rs to budding flow'rs,
Not Autumn to the Farmer,

So dear can be, as thou to me,
My fair, my lovely Charmer!

BEHIND yon hills where Stinchar flows,

'Mang moors and moffes many, O, The wintry fun the day has clos'd, And I'll away to Nannie, O,

II.

The weftlin wind blaws loud an' fhrill;
The night, baith mirk an' rainy, O;
But I'll get my plaid an' out I'll steal,
An' owre the hill to Nannie, O.

III.

My Nannie's charming, fweet an' young;

Nae artfu' wiles to win

ye, O;

May ill befa' the flattering tongue

That wad beguile my Nannie, O.

IV.

Her face is fair, her heart is true,

As fpotlefs as fhe's bonie, O;

The op'ning gowan, wat wi' dew,
Nae purer is than Nannie, O.

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