Page:A New Zealand verse (1906).pdf/193
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Song.
157
XCII.
The Bonnie Harvest Moon.
Of all the seasons in the year,
I like the autumn best,
Ere winter comes with giant strength,
Of Flora gangs to rest;
When scented breezes fill the air,
When distant echoes croon,
And ower the hill peeps lazily
The bonnie harvest moon.
I like the autumn best,
Ere winter comes with giant strength,
Of Flora gangs to rest;
When scented breezes fill the air,
When distant echoes croon,
And ower the hill peeps lazily
The bonnie harvest moon.
I like to hear the reapers’ sang.
To me ’tis sweeter far
Than a’ the sangs that e’er were sung
In praise of cruel war; . . .
When golden waves sweep o’er the fields,
When thistles shed their down,
And ower the hill peeps lazily
The bonnie harvest moon.
To me ’tis sweeter far
Than a’ the sangs that e’er were sung
In praise of cruel war; . . .
When golden waves sweep o’er the fields,
When thistles shed their down,
And ower the hill peeps lazily
The bonnie harvest moon.
John Barr of Craigilee.
XCIII.
Song.
O merry be the ploughboy
That whistles o’er the lea,
And blithesome be the ploughboy
That comes at e’en to me;
That whistles o’er the lea,
And blithesome be the ploughboy
That comes at e’en to me;