How sweet to view the op'ning dawn,
When Phoebus ushers in the morn;
How sweet to trace the flow'ry lawn,
When blossoms deck the spangl'd thorn:
The birds sing sweet o'er hill and grove,
And sweet's the shepherd's oaten reed;
But sweeter far the maid I love,
Fair Nanny of the Tweed.

Let heroes fly in quest of fame,
And dauntless brave the battle's roar;
Let statesmen court a gilded name,
And sailors roam from shore to shore:
Dearer to me the hill and grove,
The rural dance and oaten reed,
When wand'ring with the maid I love,
Fair Nanny of the Tweed.

What tho' I'm doom'd, alas! by Fate
To tend each day my fleecy care,
Content would crown my lowly state,
If she'd consent my flock to share:
Then blithe I'd sing o'er hill and grove,
And tune with glee my oaten reed;
My days I'd pass in peace and love,
With Nanny of the Tweed.