7
O if I were an eagle,
to soar into the sky,
I’d gaze around with piercing eyes,
where I my love might spy,
But ah! unhappy maiden,
that love you ne’er shall see,
Yet I love my love, because I know
my love loves me,
She's at the opening lilly fair.
When beauty blazes heav’nly bright,
the muse can no more cease to sing,
Than can the lark with rising light,
her notes neglect with drooping wing,
The morning shines, harmonious birds rise high,
The dawning beauty smile, and poets fly.
Young Annie's budding graces claim
th’ inspired thought, and softest lays:
And kindle in the breast a Same,
which must be vented in her praise.
Tell us ye shepherds have ye seen
E’er one so like an angel tread the green?
The youth, be watchful of your hearts;
when she appears, take the a arm:
Love on her beauty points his darts,
and wings an arrow from each charm.
⟨Around⟩ her eyes and smiles the graces sport,
⟨And⟩ to her snowy neck and breast resort.
