NOW westlin winds and slaughtring guns
Bring Autumns pleasant weather;
The moorcock springs on whirring wings
Amang the blooming heather:
Now waving grain, wide oer the plain,
Delights the weary farmer;
And the moon shines bright, when I rove at night,
To muse upon my charmer.
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 oerhangs the thrush,
The spreading thorn the linnet.
Thus evry kind their pleasure find,
The savage and the tender;
Some social join, and leagues combine,
Some solitary wander:
Avaunt, away! the cruel sway,
Tyrannic mans dominion;
The sportsmans joy, the murdring cry,
The fluttring, gory pinion!
But, Peggy dear, the evnings 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 evry happy creature.
Well gently walk, and sweetly talk,
Till the silent moon shine clearly;
Ill grasp thy waist, and, fondly prest,
Swear how I love thee dearly:
Not vernal showrs to budding flowrs,
Not Autumn to the farmer,
So dear can be as thou to me,
My fair, my lovely charmer!