Tweed Side

What beauties does Flora disclose! How sweet are her smiles upon Tweed? But Mary's, still sweeter than those, Both nature and fancy exceed. No daisy nor sweet blushing rose, Nor all the gay flowers of the field, Nor Tweed gliding gently thro' those, Such beauty and pleasure can yield.

The warblers are heard in each grove, The linent, the lark, and the thrush, The blackbird, and sweet cooing dove, With music enchant every bush. Come let us go forth to the mead. Let us see how the primroses spring; We'll lodge in some village on Tweed, And love while the feather'd folks sing.

How does my love pass the long day? Does Mary not tend a few sheep? Do they never carelessly stray, While happily she lies asleep? Tweed's murmurs should lull her to rest; Kind nature indulging my bliss, To relieve the soft pains of my breast I'd steal an ambrosial kiss.

'Tis she does the virgins excel, No beauty with her can compare; Love's graces all round her do dwell, She's tairest where thousands are fair. Say, charmer, where do thy flocks stray? Oh! tell me at noon where they feed: Shall I seek them on sweet winding Tay, Or the pleasanter banks of the Tweed?