Now Nature Hangs Her Mantle Green On

All-cheering Plenty, With Her Flowing Horn, Led Yellow Autumn, Wreath'd With Nodding Corn.

Some Wee Short Hour Ayont The Twal.

Now Simmer Blinks On Flowery Braes, And O'er The Chrystal Streamlets Plays; Come Let Us Spend The Lightsome Days In The Birks Of Aberfeldy.

Ambition Is A Meteor-gleam; Fame A Restless Airy Dream; Pleasures, Insects On The Wing Round Peace, Th' Tend Rest Flow'r Of Spring.

Dweller In Yon Dungeon Dark, Hangman Of Creation, Mark! Who In Widow Weeds Appears, Laden With Unhonoured Years, Noosing With Care A Bursting Purse, Baited With Many A Deadly Curse?