Son, Composed in August Songtext
von Jean Redpath

Now westling winds and slaught′ring guns bring autumn's pleasant
Weather; the moorcock springs on whirring wings among the blooming
Heather: now waving grain, wide o′er the plain
Delights the weary farmer; the moon shines bright
As I rove at night to muse upon my charmer

The pitrek lues the fruitful fells, the plover lues the mountains
The woodcock haunts the lanely dells, the soaring hen the fountains
Through lofty groves the cachy rose, the pathelman tae shine it
The hazel bush o'erhangs the thrush, the spreading thorn the linnet
Thus every kind there pleasure find, the savage and the tender
Some social gine, and leagues combine, some solitary wander


Avant, away, the cruel sway, tyrannic man's dominion; the
Sportsman′s joy, the murd′ring cry, the flattering gory pinion

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 all ca′ happy creature

We'll gently walk and sweetly talk while the
Silent moon shines clearly: I′ll clasp thy waist
And, fondly prest, swear how I loue thee dearly

Not vernal showers to budding flowers, not autumn to the farmer
So dear can be as thou to me, my fair, my lovely charmer