Come , lovely Health, wi' laughin' e'e,
I lang thy rosy lips to prie;
To wanton in thy glowin' arms,
An' revel o'er thy heav'n o' charms—
Thy smile each fear and care disarms.
In vain wou'd wealth her pearlin's heap,
Or varied year her treasures sweet;
What boots proud honour twin'd wi' fame?
Thine is the substance—theirs the name;
Ev'n love but thee grows dull an' tame.
'Tis thine our fondest hopes to draw,
An' sweeten Nature's beauties a';
To crown afresh the warrior's head,
An' strew wi' joys the bridal bed,
Where virtuous love an' truth are laid.
'Tis thine the poor man's peace to earn,
Wi' thrivance to each danted bairn;
Bear up the burden o' his toil—
His dark an' lonely thoughts beguile,
An' deck cauld poortith wi' a smile.
Wilt thou within my woodlan's dwell,
“A' bloomin' like thy bonny sel';”
Or paint afresh my Peggy's cheek,
Where Nature did her wark complete,
Now treacherous Time has wasted bleak?
The vi'let blossoms by the broom;
The bean-field blaws its saft perfume;
The wild-rose sheds its dewy tear;
The cuckoo sings her sang fu' clear—
An' a' to gar thee linger here.
Well do I mind, in blythe se'enteen,
Whan light the dancers skipt the green,
Thy artless presence grac'd the place,
An' men'd the tints on ev'ry face,
But chief my Peggy's modest grace.
Whan wark was scant an' bairns were sma',
An' life's dull pleugh was dreigh to draw;
Thou then wast ever smilin' near,
An' proffer'd hopes o' future gear,
An' dang out dull forebodin' fear.
Full forty Springs ha'e slippit by,
Since Hymen's han' the knot did tie—
Thou ne'er hast left us lang distrest,
Except to shaw wha lo'ed the best;
But wha cou'd judge the kind contest?
But now, alas! thy smiles are seen,
“Like angel's visits, far between;”
As birds of passage, fleet an' gay,
Flit from bare bush to flow'ry spray,
Thou leav'st wan age to grope its way.
Ill fares the wight that's left by you,
In lonely bield wi' comforts few;
Or, tott'rin', forc'd to seek his bread,
Thro' the wide warld without a shed,
Wi' no a frien' his cause to aid.
Virtue an' Youth are twins wi' thee—
Alas! were they sic frien's to me!
The latter lang, alas, has left me!
O' mony a joy she has bereft me;
O! may the first, through Hope, infeft me.
I lang thy rosy lips to prie;
To wanton in thy glowin' arms,
An' revel o'er thy heav'n o' charms—
Thy smile each fear and care disarms.
In vain wou'd wealth her pearlin's heap,
Or varied year her treasures sweet;
What boots proud honour twin'd wi' fame?
Thine is the substance—theirs the name;
Ev'n love but thee grows dull an' tame.
'Tis thine our fondest hopes to draw,
An' sweeten Nature's beauties a';
To crown afresh the warrior's head,
An' strew wi' joys the bridal bed,
Where virtuous love an' truth are laid.
'Tis thine the poor man's peace to earn,
Wi' thrivance to each danted bairn;
Bear up the burden o' his toil—
His dark an' lonely thoughts beguile,
An' deck cauld poortith wi' a smile.
Wilt thou within my woodlan's dwell,
“A' bloomin' like thy bonny sel';”
Or paint afresh my Peggy's cheek,
Where Nature did her wark complete,
Now treacherous Time has wasted bleak?
The vi'let blossoms by the broom;
The bean-field blaws its saft perfume;
The wild-rose sheds its dewy tear;
The cuckoo sings her sang fu' clear—
An' a' to gar thee linger here.
Well do I mind, in blythe se'enteen,
Whan light the dancers skipt the green,
Thy artless presence grac'd the place,
An' men'd the tints on ev'ry face,
But chief my Peggy's modest grace.
Whan wark was scant an' bairns were sma',
An' life's dull pleugh was dreigh to draw;
Thou then wast ever smilin' near,
An' proffer'd hopes o' future gear,
An' dang out dull forebodin' fear.
Full forty Springs ha'e slippit by,
Since Hymen's han' the knot did tie—
Thou ne'er hast left us lang distrest,
Except to shaw wha lo'ed the best;
But wha cou'd judge the kind contest?
But now, alas! thy smiles are seen,
“Like angel's visits, far between;”
As birds of passage, fleet an' gay,
Flit from bare bush to flow'ry spray,
Thou leav'st wan age to grope its way.
Ill fares the wight that's left by you,
In lonely bield wi' comforts few;
Or, tott'rin', forc'd to seek his bread,
Thro' the wide warld without a shed,
Wi' no a frien' his cause to aid.
Virtue an' Youth are twins wi' thee—
Alas! were they sic frien's to me!
The latter lang, alas, has left me!
O' mony a joy she has bereft me;
O! may the first, through Hope, infeft me.