song inscribed to alexander cunningham

now spring has clad the grove in green,

and strew'd the lea wi' flowers;

the furrow'd, waving corn is seen

rejoice in fostering showers.

while ilka thing in nature join

their sorrows to forego,

o why thus all alone are mine

the weary steps o' woe!

the trout in yonder wimpling burn

that glides, a silver dart,

and, safe beneath the shady thorn,

defies the angler's art—

my life was ance that careless stream,

that wanton trout was i;

but love, wi' unrelenting beam,

has scorch'd my fountains dry.

that little floweret's peaceful lot,

in yonder cliff that grows,

which, save the linnet's flight, i wot,

nae ruder visit knows,