Page:Broom of Cowdenknows.pdf/2



When summer comes, the swains on Tweed, Sing their successful loves; Around the ewes and lambkins play, And music fills the groves:

But my lov’d song is then the broom, So fair on Cowdenknows; For sure so sweet, so soft a bloom, Elsewhere there never grows.

There Colin tun’d his oaten reed, And won my yielding heart, No shepherd e’er, that dwelt on Tweed, Could play with half such art.

He sung of Tay, of Forth, and Clyde, The hills and dales around, Of Leaderhaughs and Leaderside, Oh, how I bless’d the sound!

Yet more delightful is the broom, So fair on Cowdenknows, For sure so fair, so bright a bloom, Elsewhere there never grows.

Ner Tiviot braes, so green and gay, May with this broom compare, Nor Yarrow banks in flow’ry May. Ner bush aboon Traquair,