song posed in august

tune—“i had a horse, i had nae mair.”

now westlin winds and ught'ring guns

bring autumn's pleasant weather;

the moorcock springs on whirring wings

amang the blooming heather:

now waving grain, wide o'er the in,

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 lin.

thus ev'ry kind their pleasure find,

the savage and the tender;

some social join, and leagues bine,

some solitary wander: