Home! Sweet Home! (Glasgow)/Roslin Castle
Jump to navigation
Jump to search
For other versions of this work, see Roslin Castle.
ROSLIN CASTLE.
’Twas in that season of the year,
When all things gay and sweet appear,
That Colin, with the morning ray,
Arose and sung his rural lay.
Of Nannie’s charms the shepherd sung,
The hills and dales with Nannie rung;
While Roslin castle heard the swain,
And echoed back the cheerful strain.
When all things gay and sweet appear,
That Colin, with the morning ray,
Arose and sung his rural lay.
Of Nannie’s charms the shepherd sung,
The hills and dales with Nannie rung;
While Roslin castle heard the swain,
And echoed back the cheerful strain.
Awake sweet Muse! the breathing spring
With rapture warms, awake and sing!
Awake and join the vocal throng,
Who hail the morning with a song;
To Nannie raise the cheerful lay,
O bid her haste and come away;
In sweetest smiles herself adorn,
And add new graces to the morn.
With rapture warms, awake and sing!
Awake and join the vocal throng,
Who hail the morning with a song;
To Nannie raise the cheerful lay,
O bid her haste and come away;
In sweetest smiles herself adorn,
And add new graces to the morn.
O hark, my love! on ev’ry spray,
Each feather’d warbler tunes his lay;
’Tis beauty fires the ravish’d throng,
And love inspires the melting song;
Then let my raptur’d notes arise,
For beauty darts from Nannie’s eyes,
And love my rising bosom warms,
And fills my soul with sweet alarms.
Each feather’d warbler tunes his lay;
’Tis beauty fires the ravish’d throng,
And love inspires the melting song;
Then let my raptur’d notes arise,
For beauty darts from Nannie’s eyes,
And love my rising bosom warms,
And fills my soul with sweet alarms.
O come, my love! thy Colin’s lay
With rapture calls, O come away!
Come, while the Muse this wreath shall twine
Around that modest brow of thine.
O hither haste, and with thee bring
That beauty blooming like the spring,
Those graces that divinely shine,
And charm this ravish’d breast of mine.
With rapture calls, O come away!
Come, while the Muse this wreath shall twine
Around that modest brow of thine.
O hither haste, and with thee bring
That beauty blooming like the spring,
Those graces that divinely shine,
And charm this ravish’d breast of mine.