Little birds in leafy bower;
Swallows twitt'ring on the tower;
Larks upon the light air born;
Hunters rous'd with shrilly horn;
The woodman whistling on his way;
The new-wak'd child at early play,
Who barefoot prints the dewy green,
Winking to the sunny sheen;
And the meek maid who binds her yellow hair,
And blythly doth her daily task prepare.
Say, sweet carol, who are they
Who welcome in the ev'ning grey?
The housewife trim and merry lout,
Who sit the blazing fire about;
The sage a conning o'er his book;
The tired wight, in rushy nook,
Who half asleep, but faintly hears
The gossip's tale hum in his ears;
The loosen'd steed in grassy stall;
The Thanies feasting in the hall;
But most of all the maid of cheerful soul,
Who fills her peaceful warriour's flowing bowl.
Well hast thou said! and thanks to thee.
Voice of gentle melody!
Dwi. (to Third Lady, who sits sad and pensive.)
What is the matter, Ella? Thy sweet voice
Was wont to join the song.
