11.

The sky was blue, the wind was still,
The moon was shining clearly;
I fet her down, wi' right good will,
Amang the rigs o' barley:

I ken't her heart was a' my ain;
I lov'd her moft fincerely;

I kifs'd her owre and owre again
Amang the rigs o' barley.

III.

I lock'd her in my fond embrace;
Her heart was beating rarely:

My bleffings on that happy place,
Amang the rigs o' barley!

But by the moon and ftars fo bright,

That fhone that hour fo clearly!

She

She ay shall bless that happy night,
Amang the rigs o' barley.

IV.

I hae been blythe wi' comrades dear;
I hae been merry drinkin;

I hae been joyfu' gath'rin gear;
I hae been happy thinking:

But a' the pleasures e'er I faw,

Tho' three times doubl'd fairly,

That happy night was worth them a',
Amang the rigs o' barley.

CHORUS.

Corn rigs, an' barley rigs,

An' corn rigs are bonie:

I'll ne'er forget that happy night,

Amang the rigs wi' Annie.

SON

G,

COMPOSED IN AUGUST.

Tune, I had a horfe, I had nae mair.

I.

Now weftlin 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 fhines bright, when I rove

at night,

To mufe upon my Charmer

II.

The Partridge loves the fruitful fells;
The Plover loves the mountains ;
The Woodcock haunts the lonely dells;
The foaring Hern the fountains :
Thro' lofty groves the Cufhat roves
The path of man to fhun it;
The hazel bush o'erhangs the Thrush,
The fpreading thorn the Linnet.

III.

Thus ev'ry kind their pleasure find,
The favage and the tender;

Some focial join, and leagues combine;

Some folitary wander :

Avaunt, away! the cruel sway,

Tyrannic man's dominion;

The

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 ftray our glad fome way,
And view the charms of Nature;
The rustling corn, the fruited thorn,
And ev'ry happy creature.

V.

We'll gently walk, and fweetly talk,
Till the filent moon fine clearly;
I'll grafp thy waift, and, fondly prest

Swear how I love thee dearly:

Not