Song

In sylvan scenes, when Laura hails The flowers that deck the grove, Ye Dryads, in the passing gales, O! whisper to my love! And tell her, as she smiling views The beauteous vernal train, How short a time their splendid hues And breathing sweets remain.

Soft in the dells, when silver streams From bubbling fountains stray, Ye Naiads, guide the waking dreams That o’er her fancy stray! And when she sees, thro’ meads and groves, The waters swiftly glide, Inspire the thought, that youthful hours No longer tarriance bide!

Then, Venus, come! and tell the Fair Those rosy hours are thine; And bid her snowy hands prepare The marriage wreath to twine. Since flowers and streams, and youth and love, So rapid fleet away, O teach my Laura to improve The time that will not stay!