| NOW westlin winds and slaught’ring guns |
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| Bring Autumn’s pleasant weather; |
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| The moorcock springs on whirring wings |
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| Amang the blooming heather: |
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| Now waving grain, wide o’er the plain, |
5 |
| Delights the weary farmer; |
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| And the moon shines bright, when I rove at night, |
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| To muse upon my charmer. |
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| The partridge loves the fruitful fells, |
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| The plover loves the mountains; |
10 |
| The woodcock haunts the lonely dells, |
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| The soaring hern the fountains: |
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| Thro’ lofty groves the cushat roves, |
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| The path of man to shun it; |
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| The hazel bush o’erhangs the thrush, |
15 |
| The spreading thorn the linnet. |
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| Thus ev’ry kind their pleasure find, |
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| The savage and the tender; |
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| Some social join, and leagues combine, |
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| Some solitary wander: |
20 |
| Avaunt, away! the cruel sway, |
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| Tyrannic man’s dominion; |
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| The sportsman’s joy, the murd’ring cry, |
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| The flutt’ring, gory pinion! |
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| But, Peggy dear, the ev’ning’s clear, |
25 |
| Thick flies the skimming swallow, |
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| The sky is blue, the fields in view, |
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| All fading-green and yellow: |
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| Come let us stray our gladsome way, |
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| And view the charms of Nature; |
30 |
| The rustling corn, the fruited thorn, |
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| And ev’ry happy creature. |
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| We’ll gently walk, and sweetly talk, |
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| Till the silent moon shine clearly; |
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| I’ll grasp thy waist, and, fondly prest, |
35 |
| Swear how I love thee dearly: |
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| Not vernal show’rs to budding flow’rs, |
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| Not Autumn to the farmer, |
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| So dear can be as thou to me, |
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| My fair, my lovely charmer! |
40 |
