Now Westlin winds, and slaught'ring guns, Bring Autumn's pleasant weather; The Muircock springs on whirring wings, Amang the blooming heather: Now waving grain, wide owre the plain, Delights the weary Farmer; The moon shines bright, when I rove at night, To muse upon my Charmer.
The Partridge loves the fruitful fell, The Plover loves the mountains, The Woodcock haunts the lonely dales, The soaring Heron the fountains, Thro' lofty groves the Cushat roves, The paths of man to shun it, The hazel bush o'erhangs the Thrush, The spreading thorn the Linnet,
Thus ev'ry kind their nature 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'rer's cry, The flutt'ring gory pinion.
But Peggy dear, the ev'ning's clear, Thick flies the skimmin Swallow; The sky is blue, the fields in view, All waving 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! No vernal show'rs to buddin flow'rs, Not Autumn to the Farmer, So dear can be, as thou to me, My fair, my lovely Charmer.
SONG.
Tune—My Nannie, O.
Behind yon hills where Lugar flows, 'Mang muirs and mosses many, O, The wintry sun the day has clos'd, And I'll awa to Nannie, O. The westlin winds blaw loud and shrill, And it's baith mirk and rainy, O; I'll get my plaid, and out I'll steal, And owre the hills to Nannie, O.
My Nannie's charming, sweet, and 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 bonny, O; The op'ning gowan, wat wi' dew, Nae purer is than Nannie, O.
A country lad is my degree, And few there be that ken me, O, But what care I how few there be, I'm welcome ay to Nannie, O. My riches a's my penny fee, And I maus guide it cannie, O; But warl's gear ne'er troubles me, My thoughts are a' my Nannie, O.
Our auld gudeman delights to view His sheep and kye thrive, bonny, O; But I'm as blythe that hauds his pleugh, And has nae care but Nannie, O. Come weel, come woe, I carena by, I'll tak what Heav'n will sen' me, O; Nae ither care in life hae I, But live, and love my Nannie, O.
Divider from 'The Beauties of Burn's Poems' a chapbook printed in Falkirk in 1819
SONG.
Tune—Gilderoy.
From thee, Eliza, I must go, And from my native shore: The cruel Fates between us throw A boundless ocean's roar! But boundless oceans, roaring wide, Between my love and me, They never, never can divide My heart and soul from thee!
Farewell, farewell, Eliza dear, The maid that I adore! A boding voice is in mine ear, We part to meet no more! But the last throb that leaves my heart, While death stands victor by, That throb, Eliza, is thy part, And thine that latest sigh!
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