The Melodist/Tweed-side

by Anonymous

TWEED-SIDE.

What beauties does Flora disclose?
How sweet are her smiles upon Tweeft?
Yet Mary's still sweeter than those,
Both nature and fancy exceed.
Nor daisy, nor sweet blushing rose,
Nor all the gay flowers of the field,
Nor Tweed gliding gently through those
Such beauty and pleasure do yield.

The warblers are heard in the grove,
The linnet, the lark, and the thrush,
The black-bird and sweet cooing dove,
With mnsic inchant ev'ry 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 feathern 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 virgin's excel,
No beauty with her may compare!
Love's graces all round her do dwell!
She's fairest where thousands are fair!
Say, charmer, where do thy flocks stray?
Oh! tell me at noon where they feed;
Shall I seek them on sweed winding Tay,
Or the pleasanter banks of the Tweed?