The rock and a wee pickle tow

Colin to Flora

O were I as fleet as the wings of the wind,

In chace of the roes when springing, love,

At the sound of your voice I would loiter behind,

So sweet is the charm of your singing, love.

I heard it, I fear'd it, I knew that soft charm

Would slacken my speed, and enervate my arm;

The deer, drawing near, now no more in alarm,

Secure through the woodlands are springing, love.

Let my arrows be scatter'd, my bow be unstrung,

And the deer all in safety be springing, love;

Let me gaze on your eyes, and attend to your tongue,

While the woodlands in concert are ringing, love.

While pining and twining the chaplet for me,

Thy hunter still chaces a vision of thee;

My youth and my truth from inconstancy free,

I vow'd to you at the beginning, love.