Now westlin winds

Now westlin winds and slaught'rin' guns,

Brings Autumn's pleasant weather;

The gorcock springs, on whirring wings

Amang the blooming heather:

Now waving grain, wide o'er the plain,

Delights the weary farmer;

The moon shines bright as I rove by night

To muse upon my charmer.

We'll gently walk and sweetly talk,

While the silent moon shines clearly;

I'll clasp thy waist, and, fondly prest,

Swear how I lo'e 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.