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Song: Composed In August
TUNE: Port Gordon

 

Burns Original

Standard English Translation


1.
Now westlin winds and slaught'ring guns
Bring Autumn's pleasant weather;
The gorcock springs on whirring wings
Amang the blooming heather:
Now waving grain, wide o'er the plain,
Delights the weary farmer;
The moon shines bright, as I rove by night
To muse upon my charmer.
2.
The paitrick lo'es the fruitfu' fells,
The plover lo'es the mountains;
The woodcock haunts the lonely dells,
The soaring hern the fountains;
Thro' lofty groves the cushat roves,
The path o' man to shun it;
The hazel bush o'erhangs the thrush,
The spreading thorn the linnet.
3.
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!
4.
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 ilka happy creature.
5.
We'll gently walk, and sweetly talk,
While the silent moon shines clearly;
I'll clasp thy waist, and, fondly prest,
Swear how I lo'e 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!



Now western winds and slaughtering (hunting) guns
Bring Autumn's pleasant weather;
The moorcock springs on whirring wings
Among the blooming heather:
Now waving grain, wide over the plain,
Delights the weary farmer;
The moon shines bright, as I roam by night
To muse upon my charmer.

The partridge loves the fruitful fells (moorlands),
The plover loves the mountains;
The woodcock haunts the lonely dells,
The soaring heron the fountains;
Through lofty groves the wild pigeon roves,
The path of man to shun it;
The hazel bush overhangs 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:
Move on, away, the cruel sway!
Tyrannical man's dominion!
The sportsman's joy, the murdering cry,
The fluttering, gory pinion (wing)!

But, Peggy dear, the evening is clear,
Thick flies the skimming swallow,
The sky is blue, the fields in view
All fading-green and yellow:
Come let us stray our glad way,
And view the charms of Nature;
The rustling corn, the fruited thorn,
And every happy creature.

We will gently walk, and sweetly talk,
While the silent moon shines clearly;
I will clasp your waist, and, fondly pressed,
Swear how I love you dearly:
Not vernal showers to budding flowers,
Not Autumn to the farmer,
So dear can be as you to me,
My fair, my lovely charmer!

 

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