Like as in Latine bene Grewe termos sum,[1]
So me behuffit quhilom or be dum.
From bastard Latine, French, or Inglis ois,
Quluire scant wes Scottis, I had nane uthcr chois;
Not that our tongue is in the selvin scant,
Bot that I the fouth of language want."
This being prefaced, here follows the modern Anglo-Scottish version;
During the jolly joyous month of June,
When gane was near the day, and supper dune,
I vralkit furth to taste the evening air,
Among the fields that were replenish'd fair,
\Vith herbage, corn, and cattle, and fruit trees,
Plenty of store , while birds and busy bees,
O'er emerald meadows flew baith east and west,
Their labour done, to take their evening rest
As up and down I cast my wandering eye,
All burning red straight grew the western sky
The sun descending on the waters grey,
Deep under earth withdrew his beams away.
The evening star, with lustre near as bright,
Springs up, the gay fore-rider of the night.
Amid the haughs and every pleasant vale,
The recent dew begins on herbs to skail,
To quench the burning where the sun had shone,
Which to the world beneath had lately gone.
On every pile and pickle of the crops,
This moisture hang, like burning beryl drops,
And on the halesome herbs, and eke the weeds
Like chrystal gems, or little silver beads.
The light began to fail, the mists to rise,
And here and there grim shades o'erspread the skies;
The bald and leathern bat commenced her flight,
The lark descended from her airy height,
Singing her plaintive song, after her wyse,
To take her rest, at matin hour to rise.
Mists sweep the hill before the lazy wind,
And night unfolds her cloak with sable lined,
Swaddling the beauty of the fruitful ground,
With cloth of shade, obscurity profound;
All creatures, wheresoe'er they liked the best,
Then went to take their pleasant nightly rest.
The fowls that lately flew throughout the air,
The drowsy cattle in their sheltered lair,
After the heat and labour of the flay,
Unstirring and unstirred in slumber lay.
Each thing that roves the meadow or the wood,
Each thing that flies through air, or dives in flood,
Each thing that nestles in the bosky bank,
Or loves to rustle through the marshes dank.
The little midges,[2] and the happy flees,[3]
Laborious emmets, and the busy bees,
All beasts, or wild or tame, or great or small,
God's peace and blessing rests serene o'er all.
