| |
| WHAT beauties does Flora disclose! | |
| How sweet are her smiles upon Tweed! | |
| Yet Mary’s, still sweeter than those, | |
| Both nature and fancy exceed. | |
| Nor daisy, nor sweet-blushing rose, | 5 |
| Not all the gay flowers of the field, | |
| Not Tweed gliding gently through those, | |
| Such beauty and pleasure does yield. | |
| |
| The warblers are heard in the grove, | |
| The linnet, the lark, and the thrush, | 10 |
| The blackbird, and sweet-cooing dove, | |
| With music enchant every bush. | |
| Come, let us go forth to the mead, | |
| Let us see how the primroses spring; | |
| We ’ll lodge in some village on Tweed, | 15 |
| And love while the feathered folks sing. | |
| |
| How does my love pass the long day? | |
| Does Mary not tend a few sheep? | |
| Do they never carelessly stray, | |
| While happily she lies asleep? | 20 |
| Should Tweed’s murmurs lull her to rest, | |
| Kind nature indulging my bliss, | |
| To ease the soft pains of my breast, | |
| I ’d steal an ambrosial kiss. | |
| |
| ’T is she does the virgins excel; | 25 |
| No beauty with her may compare; | |
| Love’s graces around her do dwell; | |
| She ’s fairest where thousands are fair. | |
| Say, charmer, where do thy flocks stray? | |
| O, tell me at morn where they feed? | 30 |
| Shall I seek them on sweet-winding Tay? | |
| Or the pleasanter banks of the Tweed? | |
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