Now westlin' winds and slaughtering guns
  Bring autumn's pleasant weather;
The muircock springs, on whirring wings,
  Amang the blooming heather.
Now waving grain, wide o'er the plain,
  Delights the weary farmer;
And the moon shine's [sic] bright, when I rove at night,
  To muse upon my charmer.

The partridge loves the fruitful fells;
  The plover loves the mountains;
The woodcock haunts the lonely dells;
  The soaring hern the fountains.
Through lofty groves the cushat roves,
  The path of man to shun it;
The hazel bush o'erhangs the thrush,
  The spreading thorn the linnet.

Thus every 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 murdering cry,
  The flutt'ring, gory pinion.

But, Peggy dear, the evening'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 every happy creature.

We'll gently walk and sweetly talk,
  Till the silent moon shines clearly;
I'll grasp thy waist, and fondly press't,
  And swear I love thee dearly.
Not vernal showers to budding flowers,
  Not autumn to the farmer,
So dear can be as thou to me,
  My fair, my lovely charmer!