Classic Poem

The thrush in the firdeal is singing till e'en
While to the far woods flies the wearisome crow,
The bonny thorn hedge o' the pasture is green,
And green is the moss-bank where primroses grow;
So come to the dewy lane, young handsome maiden,
We'll wander the sheep walks where Ivy trees lean;
The bee buzzes by with his legs heavy laden,
And sweet purple violets nestle in green

2

O come bonny maiden, & I will go with thee
Adown the footpath way the cowslip nods o'er
Among the green rushes sweet kisses I'll gie thee
And the cold world shall trouble our pleasures no more
Sweet is the song of the thrush i' the wild wood,
While blue misty hastiness gather around
And grey look the trees i' the scenes o' thy childhood
And where the Ox lows how delightful the sound!

The brimstone-hued primrose looks bright on the mossy bank
Round the stulps of old maple the violets perfume;
At the ivy'd hedge bottom the Arum looks glossy & rank
While the hedge sparrow sits on its nest in the gloom
O come my sweet maiden, there's nought to confound thee
The evening is pleasant, the valley is still;
I'll kiss thy soft cheek with my arm clasping round thee,
While the moon shows its horn at the top of the hill