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SONG,

Composed in August.

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

I.

Now westlin winds, and slaught'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.

IL

The partridge loves the fruitful fells;
The plover loves the mountains ;
The woodcock haunts the lonely dells;
The soaring hern the fountains:
Thro' lofty groves the cushat roves
The path of man to shun it;
The hazel bush o'erhangs the thrush,
The spreading thorn the linnet.

III.

Thus ev'ry kind their pleasure find,

The savage and the tender;
Some social join, and leagues combine;

Some solitary wander;

Avaunt, away! the cruel sway,

Tyrannic man's dominion;
The sportsman's joy, the murd❜ring cry,
The flutt'ring, gory pinion!

IV.

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.

V.

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:
Not vernal show'rs to budding flow'rs,
Not autumn to the farmer,

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

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Behind yon hills where Lugar* flows,
'Mang moors an' mosses many, O,
The wintry sun the day has clos'd,
And I'll awa to Nanie, O.

II.

The westlin wind blaws loud an' shill; The night's baith mirk and rainy, O; But I'll get my plaid an' out I'll steal, An' owre the hills to Nanie, O.

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My Nanie's charming, sweet, an' young;
Nae artfu' wiles to win ye, 0:

May ill befa' the flattering tongue
That wad beguile my Nanie, O.

Originally, Stinchar.

IV.

Her face is fair, her heart is true,
As spotless as she's bonnie, O;
The op'ning gowan, wet wi' dew,
Nae purer is than Nanie, O.

V.

A country lad is my degree,

An' few there be that ken me, O; But what care I how few they be,I'm welcome aye to Nanie, O.

VI.

My riches a's my penny-fee,

An' I maun guide it cannie, O; But warl's gear ne'er troubles me, My thoughts are a' my Nanie, O.

VII.

Our auld guidman delights to view
His sheep an' kye thrive bonnie, O;
But I'm as blythe that hauds his pleugh,
An' has nae care but Nanie, O.

VIII.

Come weel, come woe, I care na by,
I'll tak what Heav'n will sen' me,

Nae ither care in life have I,

But live, an' love my Nanie, O.

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GREEN GROW THE RASHES.

A FRAGMENT.

CHORUS.

Green grow the rashes, O;

Green grow the rashes, O;

The sweetest hours that e'er I spent
Are spent amang the lasses, O.

I.

There's nought but care on ev'ry han',
In ev'ry hour that passes,

0:

What signifies the life o' man,

An' 'twere na for the lasses, O!

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The warly race may riches chase,
An' riches still may flee them, O;
An' tho' at last they catch them fast,
Their hearts can ne'er enjoy them, O.
Green grow, &e,

III.

But gie me a canny hour at e'en,
My arms about my dearie, 0,
An' warly cares, an' warly men,
May a' gang tapsalteerie, O!

Green grow, &c.

IV.

For you sae douse, ye sneer at this,
Ye're nought but senseless asses, O:
The wisest man the warl' e'er saw,

He dearly lov'd the lasses, O.

Green grow, &e.

V.

Auld nature swears, the lovely dears
Her noblest work she classes, O:
Her prentice han' she try'd on man,
An' then she made the lasses, O.

Green grow, &c.

SONG.

Tune, "Jockey's grey breeks."

I.

Again rejoicing nature sees

Her robe assume its vernal hues,
Her leafy locks wave in the breeze
All freshly steep'd in morning dews.

CHORUS".

And maun I still on Meniet doat,
And bear the scorn that's in her e'e!
For it's jet, jet black, an' it's like a hawk,
An' it winna let a body be!

II.

In vain to me the cowslips blaw,
In vain to me the vi'lets spring:

In vain to me, in glen or shaw,
The mavis and the lintwhite sing.

And mayn I still, &c.

III.

The merry ploughboy cheers his team,
Wi' joy the tentie seedsman stalks,

But life to me's a weary dream.

A dream of ane that never wauks.

And maun I still, &c.

IV.

The wanton coot the water skims,
Amang the reeds the ducklings ery,

The stately swan majestic swims,

And every thing is blest but I.

And maun I still, &c.

This chorus is part of a song composed by a gentleman in Edinburgh, a particular friend of the author's.

+ Menie is the common abbreviation of Mari

amne.

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