(Robert Burns)






The Fete Champetre


O WHA will to Saint Stephens house,
  To do our errands there, man?
O wha will to Saint Stephens house,
  O th merry lads of Ayr, man?
Or will we send a man-o-law?
  Or will we send a sodger?
Or him wha led oer Scotland a
  The meikie Ursa-Major?

Come, will ye court a noble lord,
  Or buy a score o lairds, man?
For worth and honour pawn their word,
  Their vote shall be Glencairds, man.
Ane gies them coin, ane gies them wine,
  Anither gies them clatter;
Annbank, wha gueesd the ladies taste,
  He gies a Fte Champtre.

When Love and Beauty heard the news,
  The gay green-woods amang, man;
Where, gathering flowers and busking bowers,
  They heard the blackbirds sang, man;
A vow, they seald it with a kiss
  Sir Politics to fetter,
As theirs alone, the patent-bliss,
  To hold a Fte Champtre

Then mounted Mirth, on gleesome wing,
  Oer hill and dale she flew, man;
Ilk wimpling burn, ilk crystal spring,
  Ilk glen and shaw she knew, man:
She summond every social sprite,
  That sports by wood or water,
On th bonnie banks of Ayr to meet,
  And keep this Fte Champtre.

Cauld Boreas, wi his boisterous crew,
  Were bound to stakes like kye, man;
And Cynthias car, o silver fu,
  Clamb up the starry sky, man:
Reflected beams dwell in the streams,
  Or down the current shatter;
The western breeze steals through the trees,
  To view this Fte Champtre.

How many a robe sae gaily floats!
  What sparkling jewels glance, man!
To Harmonys enchanting notes,
  As moves the mazy dance, man!
The echoing wood, the winding flood,
  Like Paradise did glitter,
When angels met, at Adams yett,
  To hold their Fte Champtre.

When Politics came there to mix
  And make his ether-stane, man!
He circled round the magic ground,
  But entrance found he nane, man:
He blushd for shame, he quat his name.
  Forswore it every letter,
Wi humble prayer to join and share
  This festive Fte Champtre.




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