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BURNS AND HIS HIGHLAND MARY.
Summer, sweet summer, calls form earth
All that had in her bosom slept,
Of green delight or rosy birth,
While winter raved, or soft spring wept.
But now the yellow August yields
The glories of a summer morn;
The corn is smiling in the fields,
The flowers are smiling in the corn.
A fairy armoury, there stand
The spears Titania's knights might bear;
And, banners for an elfin band,
The crimson corn-flowers light the air.
All things are cheerful; o'er the hills
Rich woods extend their wealth along;
And music from the hidden rills
Comes like a universal song.
B
