Peggy.

By Robert Burns

I. Now westlin winds and slaughtering guns Bring autumn's pleasant weather; The moor-cock springs, on whirring wings, Amang the blooming heather: 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. V. 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, my lovely charmer!