 | The songs and poems of Robert Tannahill |  |
178
THE CHOICE.
Ye vot'ries of pleasure and ease,
Proud, wasting in riot the day,
Drive on your career as ye please,
Let me follow a different way.
The woodland, the mountain, and hill,
With the birds singing sweet from the tree,
The soul with serenity fill,
And have pleasures more pleasing to me.
Proud, wasting in riot the day,
Drive on your career as ye please,
Let me follow a different way.
The woodland, the mountain, and hill,
With the birds singing sweet from the tree,
The soul with serenity fill,
And have pleasures more pleasing to me.
When I see you parade through the streets,
With affected, unnatural airs,
I smile at your low, trifling gaits,
And could heartily lend you my prayers.
Great Jove! was it ever designed
That man should his reason lay down,
And barter the peace of his mind
For the follies and fashions of town?
With affected, unnatural airs,
I smile at your low, trifling gaits,
And could heartily lend you my prayers.
Great Jove! was it ever designed
That man should his reason lay down,
And barter the peace of his mind
For the follies and fashions of town?
I 'll retire to yon broom-covered fields,
On the green mossy turf I 'll recline,
The pleasures that solitude yields,
Composure and peace shall be mine.
There Thomson or Shenstone I 'll read,
Well-pleased with each well-managed theme,
With nothing to trouble my head,
But ambition to imitate them.
On the green mossy turf I 'll recline,
The pleasures that solitude yields,
Composure and peace shall be mine.
There Thomson or Shenstone I 'll read,
Well-pleased with each well-managed theme,
With nothing to trouble my head,
But ambition to imitate them.
| The songs and poems of Robert Tannahill | |