« AnteriorContinuar »
The Partridge loves the fruitful fells;
The Plover loves the mountains;
The soaring Hern the fountains :
The path of man to fhun it;
The spreading thorn the Linnet.
Thus ev'ry kind their pleasure find,
The favage and the tender;
Some solitary wander:
Tyrannic man's dominion;
The Sportsman's joy, the murd'ring cry,
The flutt'ring, 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 silent moon shine clearly ; I'll grasp thy waist, and, fondly prest,
Swear how I love thee dearly :
hills where Stinchar flows, 'Mang moors an mosses many, 0, The wintry fun the day has clos'd,
And I'll awa to Nanie, 0.
The westlin wind blaws loud an' fhill;
The night's baith mirk and rainy, 0; But I'll get my plaid an' out I'll steal,
An' owre the hill to Nanie, O.
My Nanie's charming, sweet an' young;
Nae artfu' wiles to win ye, O: May ill befa’ the flattering tongue o
That wad beguile my Nanie, O.
Her face is fair, her heart is true,
As spotless as she's bonnie, 0; The op'ning gowan, wat wi' dew,
Nae purer is than Nanie, O.
A country lad is my degree,
An' few there be that ken me, O;