II.

The sky was blue, the wind was still,
The moon was shining clearly;
I set her down wi' right good will,
Amang the rigs o' barley:

I ken't her heart was a' my ain;
I lov'd her most sincerely;
I kiss'd her owre and owre again
Amang the rigs o' barley.

III.

I lock'd her in my fond embrace;
Her heart was beating rarely:
My blessings on that happy place,
Amang the rigs o' barley!

But by the moon and stars so bright,
That shone that hour so clearly!
She ay shall bless that happy night,
Amang the rigs o' barley.

IV.

I hae been blythe wi' comrades dear;
I hae been merry drinkin;
I hae been joyfu' gath'rin gear;
I hae been happy thinking:

But

But a' the pleasures e'er I saw,
Tho' three times doubl'd fairly,

That happy night was worth them a',
Amang the rigs o' barley.

CHORUS.

Corn rigs, an' barley rigs,
An' corn rigs are bonnie:
I'll ne'er forget that happy night,
Amang the rigs wi' Annie.

VOL. III.

T

SONG,

SONG,

COMPOSED IN AUGUST.

Tune- I HAD A HORSE, I HAD NAE MAIR.'

I.

Now westlin winds, and slaught'ring guns
Bring autumn's pleasant weather;
The moorcock springs, on whirring wings,
Amang the blooming heather:

Now

Now waving grain, wide o'er the plain,
Delights the weary farmer;

And the moon shines bright, when I rove at night,
To muse upon my charmer.

II.

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 o'erhangs the thrush,
The spreading thorn the linnet.

III.

Thus ev'ry kind their pleasure 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'ring cry,

The flutt'ring, gory pinion!

IV.

But Peggy dear, the ev'ning's 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 every happy creature.

V.

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:
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!

SONG.