Now Spring has clad the grove in green

9The trout in yonder wimpling burn

10 That glides, a silver dart,

11And, safe beneath the shady thorn,

12 Defies the angler’s art—

13My life was ance that careless stream,

14 That wanton trout was I;

15But Love, wi’ unrelenting beam,

16 Has scorch’d my fountains dry.

17That little floweret’s peaceful lot,

18 In yonder cliff that grows,

19Which, save the linnet’s flight, I wot,

20 Nae ruder visit knows,

21Was mine, till Love has o’er me past,

22 And blighted a’ my bloom;

23And now, beneath the withering blast,

24 My youth and joy consume.

25The waken’d lav’rock warbling springs,

26 And climbs the early sky,

27Winnowing blythe his dewy wings

28 In morning’s rosy eye;

29As little reck’d I sorrow’s power,

30 Until the flowery snare

31O’witching Love, in luckless hour,

32 Made me the thrall o’ care.

33O had my fate been Greenland snows,

34 Or Afric’s burning zone,

35Wi’man and nature leagued my foes,

36 So Peggy ne’er I’d known!

37The wretch whose doom is “Hope nae mair”

38 What tongue his woes can tell;

39Within whase bosom, save Despair,

40 Nae kinder spirits dwell.