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Poem by Robert Burns

The Heather Was Blooming

THE heather was blooming, the meadows were mawn,
Our lads gaed a-hunting, ae day at the dawn,
Oer moors and oer mosses and mony a glen;
At length they discoverd a bonnie moor-hen.

  I red you beware at the hunting, young men;
  I red you beware at the hunting, young men;
  Tak some on the wing, and some as they spring,
  But cannily steal on a bonnie moor-hen.

Sweet brushing the dew from the brown heather-bells,
Her colours betrayd her on yon mossy fells;
Her plumage outlustred the pride o the spring,
And O! as she wantond gay on the wing.

Auld Phoebus himsel, as he peepd oer the hill,
In spite at her plumage he tried his skill:
He levelld his rays where she baakd on the brae-
His rays were outshone, and but markd where she lay.

They hunted the valley, they hunted the hill,
The best of our lads wi the best o their skill;
But still as the fairest she sat in their sight,
Then whirr! she was over, a mile at a flight.

Robert Burns

Robert Burns's other poems:
  1. On Robert Riddell
  2. The Book-Worms
  3. The Cairds Second Song
  4. O, Wert Thou in the Cauld Blast
  5. Epitaph on a Suicide

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