ilk glen and shaw she knew, man:

she summon'd every social sprite,

that sports by wood or water,

on th' bonie banks of ayr to meet,

and keep this fete champetre.

cauld boreas, wi' his boisterous crew,

were bound to stakes like kye, man,

and cynthia's car, o' silver fu',

clamb up the starry sky, man:

reflected beams dwell in the streams,

or down the current shatter;

the western breeze steals thro'the trees,

to view this fete champetre.

how many a robe sae gaily floats!

what sparkling jewels glance, man!

to harmony's enchanting notes,

as moves the madance, man.

the echoing wood, the winding flood,

like paradise did glitter,

when angels met, at adam's yett,

to hold their fete champetre.

when politics came there, to mix

and make his ether-stane, man!

he circled round the magic ground,

but entrance found he nane, man:

he blush'd for shame, he quat his name,

forswore it, every letter,

wi' humble prayer to join and share

this festive fete champetre.