Now westlin winds and slaught’ring gunsBring Autumn’s pleasant weather;The moorcock springs on whirring wingsAmang the blooming heather:Now waving grain, wide o’er the plain,Delights the weary farmer;And the moon shines bright, when I rove at night,To muse upon my charmer.8
The partridge loves the fruitful fells,The plover loves the mountains;The woodcock haunts the lonely dells,The soaring hern the fountains:Thro’ lofty groves the cushat roves,The path of man to shun it;The hazel bush o’erhangs the thrush,The spreading thorn the linnet.16
Thus ev’ry kind their pleasure find,The savage and the tender;Some social join, and leagues combine,Some solitary wander:Avaunt, away! the cruel sway,Tyrannic man’s dominion;The sportsman’s joy, the murd’ring cry,The flutt’ring, gory pinion!24
But, Peggy dear, the ev’ning’s clear,Thick flies the skimming swallow,The sky is blue, the fields in view,All fading-green and yellow:Come let us stray our gladsome way,And view the charms of Nature;The rustling corn, the fruited thorn,And ev’ry happy creature.32
We’ll gently walk, and sweetly talk,Till the silent moon shine clearly;I’ll grasp thy waist, and, fondly prest,Swear how I love thee dearly:Not vernal show’rs to budding flow’rs,Not Autumn to the farmer,So dear can be as thou to me,My fair, my lovely charmer!40