FRAE fields where Spring her sweets has blawn
Wi' caller verdure owre the lawn,
The Gowdspink comes in new attire,
The brawest 'mang the whistling choir,
That, ere the sun can clear his een,
Wi' glib notes sane the Simmer's green.
Sure Nature herried mony a tree,
For spraings and bonny spats to thee:
Nae mair the rainbow can impart
Sic glowin ferlies o' her art,
Whase pencil wrought its freaks at will
On thee, the sey-piece o' her skill.
Nae mair thro' straths in Simmer dight
We seek the rose to bless our sight;
Or bid the bonny wa'-flowers sprout
On yonder ruin's lofty snout.
Thy shinin garments far outstrip
The cherries upo' Hebe's lip,
And fool the tints that Nature chose
To busk and paint the crimson rose.
'Mang men, wae's heart! we aften find The brawest drest want peace o' mind, While he that gangs wi' ragged coat Is weel contentit wi' his lot.
Whan wand wi' glewy birdlime's set,
To steal far aff your dautit mate,
Blithe wad ye change your cleeding gay
In lieu of lav'rock's sober gray.
In vain thro' woods you sair may ban
The envious treachery of man,
That wi' your gowden glister ta'en,
Still hunts you on the Simmer's plain,
And traps you 'mang the sudden fa's
O' Winter's dreary, dreepin snaws.
Now steekit frae the gowany field,
Frae ilka fav'rite houff and beild;
But mergh, alas! to disengage
Your bonny buik frae fettering cage,
Your free-born bosom beats in vain
For darling liberty again.
In window hung, how aft we see
Thee keek around at warblers free,
That carol saft, and sweetly sing
Wi' a' the blitheness o' the Spring?
Like Tantalus they hing you here
То spy the glories o' the year;
And tho' you're at the burnie's brink,
They douna suffer you to drink.
Ah, Liberty! thou bonny dame,
How wildly wanton is thy stream
Round whilk the birdies a' rejoice,
And hail you wi' a gratefu' voice.
The Gowdspink chatters joyous here,
And courts wi' gleesome sangs his peer:
The mavis frae the new-bloom'd thorn
Begins his lauds at earest morn;
And herd lowns loupin o'er the grass,
Need far less fleetchin to their lass,
Than paughty damsels bred at courts,
Wha thaw their mou's, and tak the dorts;
But, reft of thee, fient flee we care
For a' that life ahint can spare.
The Gowdspink, that sae lang has kend
Thy happy sweets (his wonted friend),
Her sad confinement ill can brook
In some dark chaumer's dowie nook ;
Tho' Mary's hand his nebb supplies,
Unkend to hunger's painfu' cries,
Ev'n beauty canna chear the heart
Frae life, frae liberty apart;
For now we tyne its wonted lay,
Sae lightsome, sweet, sae blithely gay.
Thus Fortune aft a curse can gie,
To wyle us far frae liberty;
Then tent her syren smiles wha list,
I'll ne'er envy your girnel's grist;
For whan fair Freedom smiles nae mair,
Care I for life? Shame fa' the hair;
A field o'ergrown wi' rankest stubble,
The essence o' a paltry bubble.
WHAN father Aidie first pat spade in
The bonny yard of ancient Eden,
His amry had nae liquor laid in,
To bide right sair,
He loutit down, and drank bedeen
A dainty skair.
His bairns had a', before the flood,
A langer tack o' flesh and blood;
And on mair pithy shanks they stood Than Noah's line,
Wha still hae been a feckless brood,
The fuddlin bardies, now-a-days, Rin maukin-mad in Bacchus' praise; And limp and stoiter thro' their lays Anacreontic,
While each his sea of wine displays, As big's the Pontic,
My Muse will no gang far frae hame, Or scour a' airths to hound for fame; In troth the jillet ye might blame For thinking on't, Whan eithly she can find the theme O' aquafont.
This is the name that doctors use,
Their patients' noddles to confuse ;
Wi' simples clad in terms abstruse,
They labour still,
In kittle words to gar you roose
Their want o' skill.
But we'll hae nae sic clitter-clatter; And, briefly to expound the matter,
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