Her breath was the zephyrs
That waft frae the roses,
And skim o'er the heath
As the summer day closes.
I told her my love-tale,
Which seem'd to her cheering;
Then she breathed on the soft gale
Her song so endearing.
The rock echoes ringing
Seem'd charm'd wi' my story;
And the birds, sweetly singing,
Replied to my Flora.
The sweet zephyr her breath
As it wafts frae the roses,
And skims o'er the heath
As the summer day closes.
PATE BIRNIE.[27]
Our minstrels a', frae south to north,
To Edin cam to try their worth,
And ane cam frae the banks o' Forth,
Whase name was Patie Birnie.
This Patie, wi' superior art,
Made notes to ring through head and heart,
Till citizens a' set apart
Their praise to Patie Birnie.
Tell auld Kinghorn, o' Picish birth,
Where, noddin', she looks o'er the Firth,
Aye when she would enhance her worth,
To sing o' Patie Birnie.
His merits mak Auld Reekie[28] ring,
Mak rustic poets o' him sing;
For nane can touch the fiddle-string
Sae weel as Patie Birnie.
He cheers the sage, the sour, the sad,
Maks youngsters a rin louping mad,
Heads grow giddy, hearts grow glad,
Enchanted wi' Pate Birnie.
The witching tones o' Patie's therm,
Mak farmer chiels forget their farm,
Sailors forget the howling storm,
When dancing to Pate Birnie.
Pate maks the fool forget his freaks,
Maks baxter bodies burn their bakes,
And gowkies gie their hame the glaiks,
And follow Patie Birnie.
When Patie taks his strolling rounds,
To feasts or fairs in ither towns,
Wark bodies fling their trantlooms doun,
To hear the famous Birnie.
The crabbit carles forget to snarl,
The canker'd cuiffs forget to quarrel,
And gilphies forget the stock and horle,
And dance to Patie Birnie.