Rigs o' barley (1820)/The bush aboon Traquair

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THE BUSH ABOON TRAQUAIR.

Hear me ye nymphs and every swain,
I'll tell how Peggy grieves me,
Though this I languish, this complain,
alas she ne'er believes me!
My vows and sighs like silent air,
unheaded never move her,
At the bonny bush aboon Traquair,
'twas there I first did love her.

That day she smil'd and made me glad;
no maid seem'd ever kinder,
I thought myself the luckiest lad,
so sweetly there to find her:
I try'd to soothe my am'rous flame,
in words that I thought tender,
I more than pass'd I'm not to blame;
I mean not to offend her:

Yet now she scornful flees the plain,
the fields we then frequented,
Where'ere she meets she shows disdain,
she looks as ne'er aquainted.
The bonny bush bloom'd fair in May,
its sweets I'll ay remember,
But now her sweets makes it decay,
it fades as in December.

Ye rural powers who hear my strains,
why thus should Peggy grieve me,
Oh I make her partners in my pains,
then ether smiles relieve me.
If not, my love will turn despair,
my passion no more tender:
I'll leave the bush aboon Traquair,
to lonely woods I'll wander,