SON G. COMPOSED IN AUGUST. Tune,-I had a horfe, I had nae mair. I. Now weftlin winds, and flaught'ring guns 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 Partridge loves the fruitful fells; The hazel bush o'erhangs the Thrush, III. Thus ev'ry kind their pleasure find, 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, IV. But Peggy dear, the ev'ning's clear, V. We'll gently walk, and fweetly talk, Swear how I love thee dearly; Not 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! SON G. Tune,-My Nanie, O. I. BEHIND yon hills where Stinchar flows, 'Mang moors an' moffes many, O, The wintry fun the day has clos'd, And I'll awa to Nanie, O. II. The weftlin wind blaws loud an' fhill; An' owre the hill to Nanie, O. III. |