NOW westlin winds and slaught’ring guns | |
Bring Autumn’s pleasant weather; | |
The moorcock springs on whirring wings | |
Amang the blooming heather: | |
Now waving grain, wide o’er the plain, | 5 |
Delights the weary farmer; | |
And the moon shines bright, when I rove at night, | |
To muse upon my charmer. | |
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The partridge loves the fruitful fells, | |
The plover loves the mountains; | 10 |
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 o’erhangs the thrush, | 15 |
The spreading thorn the linnet. | |
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Thus ev’ry kind their pleasure find, | |
The savage and the tender; | |
Some social join, and leagues combine, | |
Some solitary wander: | 20 |
Avaunt, away! the cruel sway, | |
Tyrannic man’s dominion; | |
The sportsman’s joy, the murd’ring cry, | |
The flutt’ring, gory pinion! | |
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But, Peggy dear, the ev’ning’s clear, | 25 |
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; | 30 |
The rustling corn, the fruited thorn, | |
And ev’ry happy creature. | |
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We’ll gently walk, and sweetly talk, | |
Till the silent moon shine clearly; | |
I’ll grasp thy waist, and, fondly prest, | 35 |
Swear how I love thee dearly: | |
Not vernal show’rs to budding flow’rs, | |
Not Autumn to the farmer, | |
So dear can be as thou to me, | |
My fair, my lovely charmer! | 40 |