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.

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, iny lovely charmer!

SONG.