And tune their sangs, like Nature's clarks
Our medow, mure and stryp.[80]
The time sa tranquil is and still,
That na where sall ye find,
Saife on ane high and barren hill,
Ane aire of peeping wind.
All trees and simples[81] great and small,
That balmie leife do beir,
Nor thay were painted on a wall,
Na mair they move or steir[82]...."