Wednesday, October 26, 2016

Autumn's Pleasant Weather

Now Westlin Winds
Robert Burns
(written at 15 to a 13 year old girl)

Now westlin winds and slaught'ring guns 
Bring 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 night, 
To 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!

The musical rendition.
A folk-song.

Here's to a thoroughly lovely
my little chickadees.

Hugs and pecks on the cheek,

1 comment:

  1. You ended your blog by writing: Here's to a thoroughly lovely
    Thursday, my little chickadees.
    Well, speaking of little chickadees, you need to go and listen to this song:


Love to hear from you, little cutie-kins!

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