8
Awake, and join the vocal throng,
And haill the morning with a song,
To Nancy raise the cheerful lay,
O bid her haste and come away;
In sweetest smiles herself adorn.
And add new graces to the morn.
O hark, my love! on ev'ry spray,
Each feather'd warbler tunes his lay;
'Tis beauty fires the rav'sh'd throng,
And love inspires the melting song.
Then let my ravish'd notes arise.
For beauty darts from Nanny's eyes;
And love my rising bosom warms.
And fills my soul with sweet alarms.
O come, my love thy Colin's lay,
With rapture calls. Oh! come away:
Come, while the muse this wreath shall twine,
Around the modest brow of thine.
O hither haste and with thee bring,
That beauty, blooming like the spring;
Those graces that divinely shine,
And charm this ravish'd heart of mine.
FINIS.
