Thus fang blate Edie by a burn,
His Chrifty did o'erhear him;
She doughtna let her lover mourn,
But e'er he wift drew near him.
She fpake her favour with a look,
Which left nae room to doubt her;
He wifely this white minute took,
And flang his arms about her.
My Chrifty!witness bonny ftream,
Sic joys frae tears arising,
I wish this may na be a dream;
O love the maift surprising!
Time was too precious now for tauk;
This point of a' his wishes
He wadna with fet fpeeches bauk,
But war'd it a' on kiffes.
The Bush aboon TRAQUAIR.
EAR me, ye nymphs, and every fwain,
I'll tell how Peggy grieves me,
Tho' thus I languifh, thus complain,
Alas! fhe ne'er believes me.
My vows and fighs, like filent air,
Unheeded never move her;
At the bonny bush aboon Traquair,
'Twas there I firft did love her.
That day fhe fmil'd, and made me glad,
No maid feem'd ever kinder;
I thought myself the luckieft lad,
So fweetly there to find her.
I tri'd to footh my am'rous flame,
In words that I thought tender;
If more there pafs'd, I'm not to blame,
I meant not to offend her.
Yet now the fcornful flees the plain,
The fields we then frequented;
If e'er we meet the fhews difdain,
She looks as ne'er acquainted.
The bonny bufh bloom'd fair in May,
Its fweets I'll ay remember,
But now her frowns make it decay,
It fades as in December.
Ye rural powers, who hear my strains,
Why thus fhould Peggy grieve me?
Oh! make her partner in my pains,
Then let her fmiles relieve me.
If not, my love will turn despair,
My paffion no more tender.
I'll leave the bufh aboon Traquair,
To lonely wilds I'll wander.
Tune, Polwarth on the Green.
THO' beauty, like the rofe,
That files on Polwarth Green,
In various colours fhows,
As 'tis by fancy feen:
Yet all its diff'rent glories ly,
United in thy face,
And virtue, like the fun on high,
Gives rays to ev'ry grace.
So charming is her air,
So fmooth, fo calm her mind,
That to fome angel's care
Each motion feems affign'd:
But yet fo chearful, fprightly, gay,
The joyful moments fly,
As if for wings they stole the ray
She darteth from her eye.
Kind am'rous Cupids, while
With tuneful voice the fings,
"Perfume her breath and smile,
And wave their balmy wings:
But as the tender blushes rife,
Soft innocence doth warm,
The foul in blifsful extafies
Diffolveth in the charm.
WHAT beauties does Flora difclofe? feet are her fimiles upon Tweed?
Yet Mary's ftill fweeter than those ;
Both nature and fancy exceed.
Nor daily, nor fweet-blushing rofe,
Not all the gay flow'rs of the field,
Not Tweed gliding gently through thofe,
Such beauty and pleasure does yield.
The warblers are heard in the grove,
The linnet, the lark, and the thrufn,
The blackbird, and fweet-cooing dove,
With mufic enchant ev'ry bush.
Come, let us go forth to the mead,
Let us fee how the primroses fpring,
We'll lodge in fome village on Tweed,
And love while the feather'd folks fing.
How does my love pass the long day?
Does Mary not 'tend a few sheep?
Do they never carelessly ftray,
While happily fhe lies afleep?
Tweed's murmurs should lull her to reft;
Kind nature indulging my blifs,
To relieve the foft pains of my breaft
I'd fteal an ambrofial kifs.
'Tis fhe does the virgins excell,
No beauty with her may compare, Love's graces all round her do dwell, She's faireft, where thousands are fair. Say, charmer, where do thy flocks stray? Oh! tell me at noon where they feed; Shall I feek them on fweet winding Tay, Or the pleasanter banks of the Tweed?
Tune, Woe's my heart that we should funder.
O! the dear, the charming treasure!
Fortune now in vain fhall frown;
All my future life is pleasure.
See how rich with youthful grace,
Beauty warms her ev'ry feature;
Smiling heaven is in her face,
All is gay, and all is nature.
See what mingling charms arise,
Rofy fmiles, and kindling blufhes;
Love fits laughing in her eyes,
And betrays her fecret wishes.
Haste then from th' Idalian grove,
Infant fmiles, and sports, and graces ;
Spread the downy couch for love,
And lull us in your fweet embraces.
Softeft raptures, pure from noife,
This fair happy night furround us ;
While a thousand fprightly joys
Silent flutter all around us.
Thus unfowr'd with care or ftrife,
Heaven ftill guard this deareft bleffing!
While we tread the path of life,
Loving ftill, and still poffeffing.
ET'S be jovial, fill our glaffes,
Madness 'tis for us to think,
How the world is rul'd by affes,
And the wife are sway'd by chink.
Fa, la, ra, &c.
Then never let vain cares oppress us,
Riches are to them a fnare,
We're ev'ry one as rich as Crafus,
While our bottle drowns our care..
Wine will make us as red as roses,
And our forrows quite forget:
Come let us fuddle all our noses,
Drink ourselves quite out of debt.
Fa, la, ra, &c.
When grim death is looking for us,
We are toping at our bowls,
Bacchus joining in the chorus:
Death, be gone! here's none but fouls.
God like Bacchus thus commanding,
Trembling death away fhall fly, Ever after understanding,
Drinking fouls can never die, Fa, la, ra, &c.
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