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Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, ed. Poems of Places: An Anthology in 31 Volumes.
Scotland: Vols. VI–VIII. 1876–79.


The Bush aboon Traquair

By Robert Crawford (c. 1700–c. 1750)

HEAR me, ye nymphs, and every swain,

I ’ll tell how Peggy grieves me;

Though thus I languish, thus complain,

Alas! she ne’er believes me.

My vows and sighs, like silent air,

Unheeded never move her;

At the bonny bush aboon Traquair,

’T was there I first did love her.

That day she smiled and made me glad,

No maid seemed ever kinder;

I thought myself the luckiest lad,

So sweetly there to find her.

I tried to soothe my amorous flame

In words that I thought tender;

If more there passed, I ’m not to blame,

I meant not to offend her.

Yet now she scornful flees the plain,

The fields we then frequented;

If ere we meet, she shows disdain,

She looks as ne’er acquainted.

The bonny bush bloomed fair in May,

Its sweets I ’ll aye remember;

But now her frowns make it decay,

It fades as in December.

Ye rural powers, who hear my strains,

Why thus should Peggy grieve me?

O, make her partner in my pains,

Then let her smiles relieve me!

If not, my love will turn despair,

My passion no more tender,

I ’ll leave the bush aboon Traquair,

To lonely wilds I ’ll wander.