When Flora queen in robes of green Show all her native grandeur, The Banks of Esk in verdure dress't, Appears in lovely splendour. There tow'ring trees the fancy please, In foliage wide extending; And cooing Doves frequent the groves, Th' enchanting scene commending, While Blackbirds sing, and Echoes ring, In accents soft and tender, The Oak and Pine their branches twine, A sweet retreat to render. There bushes rise in simple guise, Bespangl'd o'er with Roses; The Afric shore can boast no more, Than Esk, thy Banks discloses. The sunny beam, and silver stream, With bright reflection glances; And vagrant Bees on honey lees, In search of treasure dances. The stately Bean with mantle green, Exhales a fragrant flavour; Both Wheat and Corn thy haughs adorn, Thou sweetly winding river. Within thy shades, a Maid resides, Of beautys self the blossom; Her blooming cheek and temper meek, Is dear unto my bosom. She often strays Esks mazy ways, The balmy Aether breathing; Among the flow'rs in roseate bow'rs, From Grass the dew drops laveing. Within my breast, her form's imprest, Remove it shall I never; And time will prove, my lasting love, To Her and Esk forever.
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Embro, Embro Copyright © 2001, Jack Campin