[Tea-Table Miscellany Contents]
O ubi campi. Virg.
–
WHen summer comes, the swains on Tweed
Sing their successful loves,
Around the ews and lambkins feed,
And musick fills the groves.
–
But my lov’d song is then the broom
So fair on Cowdon-knows;
For sure so sweet, so soft a bloom
Elsewhere there never grows.
–
There Colin tun’d his oaten reed,
And won my yielding heart;
No shepherd e’re that dwelt on Tweed
Could play with half such art.
–
He sung of Tay, of Forth, and Clyde,
The hills and dales all round,
Of Leader-haughs and Leader-side,
Oh! how I bless’d the sound.
–
Yet more delightful is the broom,
So fair on Cowdon-knows;
For sure so fresh, so bright a bloom
Elsewhere there never grows.
–
Not Tiviot braes so green and gay
May with this broom compare,
Not Yarrow banks in flowry May,
Nor the bush aboon Traquair.
–
More pleasing far are Cowdon-knows,
My peaceful happy home,
Where I was wont to milk my ews
At even among the broom.
–
Ye powers that haunt the woods and plains
Where Tweed with Tiviot flows,
Convey me to the best of swains,
And my lov’d Cowdon-knows.
