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5
TWEED-SIDE.
WHAT beauties doth Flora disclose.
How sweet are her smiles upon
Tweed;
Yet Mary’s still sweeter than those,
Both nature and fancy exceed.
No daisy nor sweet blushing rose,
Not all the gay flowers in the field;
Not Tweed gliding gently thro’ those,
Such beauty and pleasure does yield.
The warblers are heard in the grove,
The linnet, the lark, and the thrush,
The black bird and sweet cooing dove,
With music enchant ev’ry bush.
Come let us go forth to the mead,
Let’s see the Primroses spring;
We’ll lodge in a village on Tweed,
