`ELL me, HAMILLA, tell me why
Thou doft from him that loves thee run?
Why from his foft embraces fly,
And all his kind endearments shun !
So flies the fawn, with fear oppreft,
Seeking its mother every where,
It starts at ev'ry empty blast,
And trembles when no danger's near.
And yet I keep thee but in view,
To gaze the glories of thy face;
Nor with a hateful step pursue,
As age, to rifle ev'ry grace.
Cease then, dear Wildness, cease to toy,
But hafte all rivals to outshine,
And, grown mature and ripe for joy,
Leave Mamma's arms, and come to mine.
́HEN PHOEBUS bright the azure skies
With golden rays enlight'neth,
He makes all Nature's beauties rise,
Herbs, trees, and flow'rs he quick’neth :
Amongst all those he makes his choice,
And with delight goes thorough,
With radiant beams and silver streams
O'er Leader-haughs and Yarrow.
When ARIES the day and night
In equal length divideth,
And frofty SATURN takes his flight,
Nae langer he abideth ;
Then FLORA Queen, with mantle green,
Cafts aff her former forrow,
And vows to dwell with CERES' fell,
In Leader-haughs and Yarrow.
PAN playing on his aiten reed,
And shepherds him attending,
Do here refort their flocks to feed,
The hills and haughs commending;
With cur and kent upon the bent,
Sing to the fun good-morrow,
And swear nae fields mair pleasures yield
Than Leader-haughs and Yarrow.
An house there ftands on Leader-fide,
Surmounting my descriving,
With rooms fae rare, and windows fair,
Like DEDALUS' contriving;
Men paffing by, do aften cry,
In footh it hath no marrow;
It ftands as sweet on Leader-side,
As Newark does on Yarrow.
A mile below wha lifts to ride,
They'll hear the mavis finging;
Into St LEONARD's banks she'll bide,
Sweet birks her head o'erhinging;
The lintwhite loud and Progne proud,
With tuneful throats and narrow,
Into St. LEONARD'S banks they fing
As fweetly as in Yarrow.
The lapwing lilteth o'er the lee,
With nimble wings she sporteth ;
But vows fhe'll flee far from the tree
Where Philomel resorteth :
By break of day the lark can say,
I'll bid you a good-morrow,
I'll stretch my wing, and mounting, fing
O'er Leader-haughs and Yarrow.
Park, Wantonwaws, and Woodencleugh,
The East and Western Mainses,
The wood of Lauder's fair enough,
The corns are good in Blainfhes;
Where aits are fine, and fold by kind,
That if ye search all thorough,
Mearns, Buchan, Mar, nane better are
Than Leaderhaughs and Yarrow.
In Burnmill Bog, and Whiteflade Shaws,
The fearful hare fhe haunteth;
Brighaugh and Braidwoodshiel she knaws,
And Chapel-wood frequenteth ;
Yet when the irks, to Kaidfly birks
She rins, and fighs for forrow,
That she should leave fweet Leader-haughs,
And cannot win to Yarrow.
What sweeter music wad ye hear,
Than hounds and beigles crying?
The started hare rins hard with fear,
Upon her speed relying:
But yet her strength it fails at length,
Nae bielding can she borrow
In Sorrel's fields, Cleckman, or Hags,
And fighs to be in Yarrow.
For Rockwood, Ringwood, Spotty, Shag,
With fight, and scent pursue her,
Till, ah! her pith begins to flag,
Nae cunning can rescue her:
O'er dub and dyke, o'er feugh and fyke
She'll rin the fields all thorough,
Till fail'd, the fa's in Leader-haughs,
And bids farewell to Yarrow.
Sing Erflington and Cowdenknows,
Where Homes had anes commanding ; And Drygrange with the milk-white ews, 'Twixt Tweed and Leader ftanding : The birds that flee throw Redpath trees, And Gledfwood banks ilk morrow, May chant and fing fweet Leader-haughs, And bonny howms of Yarrow.
But Minstrel-burn cannot affuage
His grief while life endureth,
To fee the changes of this age,
That fleeting time procureth :
For mony a place stands in hard cafe,
Where blyth fowk kend nae forrow,
With Homes that dwelt on Leader-fide,
And Scots that dwelt on Yarrow.
`HE morn was fair, faft was the air,
All nature's sweets were springing;
The buds did bow with filver dew,
Ten thousand birds were finging;
When on the bent, with blyth content,
Young JAMIE fang his marrow,
Nae bonnier lafs e'er trod the grass
On Leader-haughs and Yarrow.
How sweet her face, where every grace
In heavenly beauty's planted;
Her smiling een, and comely mein,
That nae perfection wanted!
I'll never fret, nor bane my fate,
But bless my bonny marrow :
If her dear fmile my doubts beguile,
My mind shall ken nae forrow.
Yet tho' fhe's fair, and has full share
Of every charm inchanting,
Each good turns ill, and foon will kill
Poor me, if love be wanting.
O bonny lass! have but the grace
To think e'er ye gae further,
Your joys maun flit, if you commit
The crying fin of murder.
My wand'ring ghaift will ne'er get rest,
And night and day affright ye;
But if ye're kind, with joyful mind
I'll study to delight ye;
Our years around with love thus crown'd,
From all things joy fhall borrow:
Thus none shall be more bleft than we, On Leader-haughs and Yarrow.
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