| Now westlin' winds and slaught’ring guns
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| Bring autumn’s pleasant weather
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| The gorcock springs on whirring wings
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| Amang the blooming heather
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| Now waving grain, wide o’er the plain
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| Delights the weary farmer
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| The moon shines bright, as I rove by night
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| To muse upon my charmer
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| The paitrick lo’es the fruitfu' fells
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| The plover lo’es the mountains
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| The woodcock haunts the lonely dells
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| The soaring hern the fountains
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| Through lofty groves the cushat roves
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| The path o' man to shun it
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| The hazel bush o’erhangs the thrush
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| The spreading thorn the linnet
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| Thus every kind their pleasure find
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| The savage and the tender
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| Some social join, and leagues combine
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| Some solitary wander
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| Avaunt, away, the cruel sway
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| Tyrannic man’s dominion!
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| The sportsman’s joy, the murdering cry
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| The fluttering gory pinion!
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| But, Peggy dear, the evening’s clear
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| Thick flies the skimming swallow
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| The sky is blue, the fields in view
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| All fading green and yellow
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| Come let us stray our gladsome way
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| And view the joys of nature
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| The rustling corn, the fruited thorn
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| And ilka happy creature
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| We’ll gently walk, and sweetly talk
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| While the silent moon shines clearly
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| I’ll clasp thy waist, and, fondly prest
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| Swear how I love thee dearly
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| Not vernal show’rs to budding flow’rs
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| Not autumn to the farmer
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| So dear can be as thou to me
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| My fair my lovely charmer |