Now westlin Winds

Now westlin winds, and slaught'ring gunsBring autumn's pleasant weather;The moorcock 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 nightTo muse upon my charmer.

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.

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!

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 ev'ry happy creature.

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!