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| FRAE fields whare Spring her sweets has blawn | |
| Wi’ caller verdure o’er the lawn, | |
| The gowdspink comes in new attire, | |
| The brawest ’mang the whistling choir, | |
| That, ere the sun can clear his ein, | 5 |
| 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 glowing ferlies o’ her art, | 10 |
| Whase pencil wrought its freaks at will | |
| On thee the sey-piece o’ her skill. | |
| Nae mair through straths in simmer dight | |
| We seek the rose to bless our sight; | |
| Or bid the bonny wa’-flowers blaw | 15 |
| Whare yonder Ruin’s crumblin’ fa’: | |
| Thy shining garments far outstrip | |
| The cherries upo’ Hebe’s lip, | |
| And fool the tints that Nature chose | |
| To busk and paint the crimson rose. | 20 |
| ’Mang men, wae’s-heart! we aften find | |
| The brawest drest want peace of mind, | |
| While he that gangs wi’ ragged coat | |
| Is weil contentit wi’ his lot. | |
| Whan wand wi’ glewy birdlime’s set, | 25 |
| To steal far aff your dautit mate, | |
| Blyth wad ye change your cleething gay | |
| In lieu of lav’rock’s sober grey. | |
| In vain thro’ woods you sair may ban | |
| Th’ envious treachery of man, | 30 |
| That, wi’ your gowden glister ta’en, | |
| Still haunts 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, | 35 |
| Frae ilka fav’rite houff and bield, | |
| But mergh, alas! to disengage | |
| Your bonny bouck frae fettering cage, | |
| Your free-born bosom beats in vain | |
| For darling liberty again. | 40 |
| In window hung, how aft we see | |
| Thee keek around at warblers free. | |
| That carrol saft, and sweetly sing | |
| Wi’ a’ the blythness of the spring? | |
| Like Tantalus they hing you here | 45 |
| To 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, | 50 |
| Round whilk the birdies a’ rejoice, | |
| An’ hail you wi’ a grateful voice. | |
| The gowdspink chatters joyous here, | |
| And courts wi’ gleesome sangs his peer; | |
| The mavis frae the new-bloom’d thorn | 55 |
| Begins his lauds at earest morn; | |
| And herd lowns louping o’er the grass, | |
| Need far less fleetching till their lass, | |
| Than paughty damsels bred at courts, | |
| Wha thraw their mou’s and take the dorts: | 60 |
| But, reft of thee, fient flee we care | |
| For a’ that life ahint can spare. | |
| The gowdspink, that sae lang has kand | |
| Thy happy sweets (his wonted friend), | |
| Her sad confinement ill can brook | 65 |
| In some dark chamber’s dowy nook; | |
| Tho’ Mary’s hand his nebb supplies, | |
| Unkend to hunger’s painfu’ cries, | |
| Ev’n beauty canna cheer the heart | |
| Frae life, frae liberty apart; | 70 |
| For now we tyne its wonted lay, | |
| Sae lightsome sweet, sae blythely gay. | |
| Thus Fortune aft a curse can gie, | |
| To wyle us far frae liberty; | |
| Then tent her syren smiles wha list, | 75 |
| I’ll ne’er envy your girnal’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 of a paltry bubble. | 80 |
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