Ye commons lay free in rude rags of nature
Ye brown heaths be clothed in furs as ye be
My wild eye in rapture adores every feature
Ye are dear as this heart in my bosom to me

O native endearments I would not forsake the
I would not forsake thee for sweetest of scenes
For sweetest of gardens that nature could make me
I would not forsake thee, dear valleys and greens

The injured fiеlds that once were gay
Whеre nature's hand displayed
Long waving rows of willows gray
And clumps of hawthorn shade

Though nature ne'er dropped thee a cloud resting mountain
Nor waterfalls tumble their music so free
Had nature denied ye a bush, tree, or fountain
Ye still had been loved, loved as an Eden by me

But now, alas, your hawthorn bowers
All desolate we see
The spoilers' axe their shade devours
And cuts down every tree