Page:A New Zealand verse (1906).pdf/193
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Song.
157
XCII.
The Bonnie Harvest Moon.
Of all the seasons in the year, I like the autumn best,Ere winter comes with giant strength, Of Flora gangs to rest;When scented breezes fill the air, When distant echoes croon,And ower the hill peeps lazily The bonnie harvest moon.
I like to hear the reapers’ sang. To me ’tis sweeter farThan a’ the sangs that e’er were sung In praise of cruel war; . . .When golden waves sweep o’er the fields, When thistles shed their down,And ower the hill peeps lazily The bonnie harvest moon.
John Barr of Craigilee.
XCIII.
Song.
O merry be the ploughboy That whistles o’er the lea,And blithesome be the ploughboy That comes at e’en to me;