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What beauties does Flora disclose ?
How sweet are her smiles upon Tweed I Yet Mary's still sweeter than those,
Roth native and fancy exceed. No daisy, nor sweet blushing rose,
Not all the gay flowers of the field ; 'Not Tweed, gliding gently through those, Such beauty and pleasure does yield
The warblers are heard in the grove,
The linnet, 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 fish the clear streams of the Tweed,
And love while the feathered folk siug.
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. Should Tweed's murmurs lull her to rest,
Kind nature indulging my bliss, To ease the soft pains of my breast,
I'd steal an embiosial kiss.