S O N G VIII.
Tune, Lochaber no more.
I.
When West winds did blow with a soft gentle breeze,
And sweet blooming verdure did clothe all the trees,
I went forth one morning, to hail the new Spring,
And hear the sweet songsters all warble and
sing;
Quite charm'd with the prospect, so pleasant and gay,
And with love quite o'erwhelmed, I fainted away:
I thought on my Jenny, whose looks me betray'd,
And deeply afflicted, I sigh'd and thus said,
II.
Ye gods! who reside in the regions above,
Deprive me of life, or inspire her with love !
Make Jenny's sweet bosom to feel for my pain;
That I may sweet peace and contentment regain;
Then in a retreat, with my Dear I will dwell;
Contentment shall guard us in yon humble cell:
Remote, we'll live happy and free from all care;
Our health be our wealth and we ne'er shall
despair.
III.
Then we'll be as happy as the rural throng,
Who with mirth are inspired, though artless
their song:
With frolic and freedom we still shall be gay,
And join all the songsters in their sprightly lay:
And if pale distress, with a faultering voice,
Shall e'er vex my Love, I will make her rejoice:
If Nature demand of her a feeling tear,
My Dear's drooping heart with a song I
will chear.
IV.
My breast it shall never defy that sweet
flame,
That I feel for her, my dear Jenny by name;
Although 'tis bewitching, how sweet is't to love!
I'll charm all that listen to me in yon grove.
When she heard my complaint, she, swift
from her bed,
Came out bouncing to me. I kiss'd the dear
Maid.
Then happy was Jenny, and to me she flew;
She was gentle and kind, and I hope she'll
prove true.
V.
And to banish each care that my peace did annoy,
And convince me that she would no longer be coy,
She smil'd sweetly on me, and gave me her
hand,
And with blushes did own she was at my
command:
Transported with joy, while she lean'd on my breast,
I thank'd the kind gods who had heard my
request;
So I too all sorrows and cares bid farewell,
While Jenny does love me, no care I can feel.