S O N G XVII.
Tune, Roslin Castle.
I.
'TIS here the Muse's fame I'll raise;
Her songs from AYR shall ne'er decay:
In tender, soothing, artless strains,
Harmonious sounds shall always stay.
II.
Sequester'd here, the Muse may boast
The Muirland Bards shall raise her fame,
With lays resounding round the coast,
O'er hills, and dales, and woodlands green.
III.
'Tis now my rural pipe I'll tune;
With feeble strains I'll swains amuse;
Though it be AYR-SHIRE'S afternoon,
She'll by her Bardies mirth diffuse:
IV.
She'll still some jolly Poets raise,
Both kind in heart and free of guile,
Who love to sing great Nature's praise,
That makes the Muse on AYRSHIRE smile.
V.
That I shall hide my best lov'd child,
From trade and all that makes a shew:
I'll let him wander on yon mead,
Or sit upon some mountain's brow:
VI.
'Tis there he'll see the rocks so wild,
And ocean dashing out her foam;
There he may deck his youthful head,
With wreaths of lilies newly blown.
VII.
Rejoice, my boy! the Muse shall guard
Thy lonely grove thou chosen hath;
Display such sounds as ne'er were heard,
In artless music's lovely breath.