CCXXXI.
CHLORIS.
Air—“My lodging is on the cold ground.”
[The origin of this song is thus told by Burns to Thomson. “On my visit the other day to my fair Chloris, that is the poetic name of the lovely goddess of my inspiration, she suggested an idea which I, on my return from the visit, wrought into the following song.” The poetic elevation of Chloris is great: she lived, when her charms faded, in want, and died all but destitute.]
I.
My Chloris, mark how green the groves,
The primrose banks how fair:
The balmy gales awake the flowers,
And wave thy flaxen hair.
II.
The lav’rock shuns the palace gay,
And o’er the cottage sings;
For nature smiles as sweet, I ween,
To shepherds as to kings
III.