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I lock'd her in my fonii embrace;

Her heart was beating rarely:
My blessings on that happy place,

Amang the rigs o' barley! But by the moon and fars so bright,

That shone that lour fo clearly ! She ay fall Lless that happy night,

Amang the rigs o' barley,

I hae been blythe with comrades dear;

I hae been merry drinking;
I hae been joyfu' gathìring gear;

I hae been happy thinking :
But a' the pleasures e'er I saw,

Tho' three times doubld fairly, That happy night was worth them a',

Amang the rigs o' barley.

Corn rigs, au' barley rigs,

An'corn rigs are bonie:
I'll ne'er forget that happy night,

Amang the rigs wi? Annie.



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

Now weltlin winds, and laught'ring 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 shines bright, when I rove at night,

To muse upon my Charmer.

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 Cushat roves, The path of man to shun it; The hazel bufa o'erhangs the Thrush,

The spreading thorn the Linnet,


Thus ev'ry kind their pleasure find,

The favage and the tender ;
Sone social 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 !

But, Peggy dear, the ev'ning's clear,

Thick flies the skimming Swallow;
The sky is blue, the fields in view,

All fading-green and yellow : Come let us stray our gladsome way,

And view the charms of Nature; The rustling corn, the fruited thorn,

And ev'ry happy creature.


We'll gently walk, and sweetly talk,

Till the filent moon shine clearly ;
I'll grasp thy waist, and, fondly prest,

Swear how I love thee dearly :
Not verval fhow'rs to budding flow'rs,

Not Autumn to the Farmer,
So dear can be, as thou to me,

My fair, my lovely Charmer!

S O N G.

Tune, My Nannie, 0.

I. BEHIND yon hills where Stinchar flows,

'Mang moors and moffes many, 0, The wintry fun the day has clos'd, And I'll

away to Nannie, O,

The westlin 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, sweet an' young :

Nae artfu' wiles to win ye, O; May ill befa' the flattering tongue

That wad beguile my Nannie, O.

Her face is fair, her heart is true,

As spotless as she's bonie, 0;
The op’ning gowan, wat wi' dew,

Nae purer is than Nannie, O.

V. A country lad is my degree,

An' few there be that ken me, 0; But what care I how few they be,

I'm welcome ay to Nannie, O.


VI. My riches a's my penny-fee,

An' I maun guide it cannie, 0; But warl's gear ne’er troubles me,

My thoughts are a', my Nannie, O.

Our auld Guidman delights to view

His sheep an' kye thrive bonie, 0;
But I'm as blythe that hauds his pleugh,

An' has nae care but Nannie, O.

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Come weel come woe, I care na hy,

I'll tak what Heav'n will fen' me, O;
Nae ither care in life have I,

But live, an' love, my Nannie, O..



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