| |
| NOW spring has clad the grove in green, | |
| And strew’d the lea wi’ flowers; | |
| The furrow’d, waving corn is seen | |
| Rejoice in fostering showers. | |
| While ilka thing in nature join | 5 |
| Their sorrows to forego, | |
| O why thus all alone are mine | |
| The weary steps o’ woe! | |
| |
| The trout in yonder wimpling burn | |
| That glides, a silver dart, | 10 |
| And, safe beneath the shady thorn, | |
| Defies the angler’s art— | |
| My life was ance that careless stream, | |
| That wanton trout was I; | |
| But Love, wi’ unrelenting beam, | 15 |
| Has scorch’d my fountains dry. | |
| |
| That little floweret’s peaceful lot, | |
| In yonder cliff that grows, | |
| Which, save the linnet’s flight, I wot, | |
| Nae ruder visit knows, | 20 |
| Was mine, till Love has o’er me past, | |
| And blighted a’ my bloom; | |
| And now, beneath the withering blast, | |
| My youth and joy consume. | |
| |
| The waken’d lav’rock warbling springs, | 25 |
| And climbs the early sky, | |
| Winnowing blythe his dewy wings | |
| In morning’s rosy eye; | |
| As little reck’d I sorrow’s power, | |
| Until the flowery snare | 30 |
| O’witching Love, in luckless hour, | |
| Made me the thrall o’ care. | |
| |
| O had my fate been Greenland snows, | |
| Or Afric’s burning zone, | |
| Wi’man and nature leagued my foes, | 35 |
| So Peggy ne’er I’d known! | |
| The wretch whose doom is “Hope nae mair” | |
| What tongue his woes can tell; | |
| Within whase bosom, save Despair, | |
| Nae kinder spirits dwell. | 40 |
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