Song

On a mount a cottage stands Half way down the sunny side, And a little vale commands Where the glassy waters glide. There ascends a curtain’d hill, From the stormy north it shields; At its foot a church and mill, Clustering hedgerows, narrow fields.

Pleasant, pleasant is the scene When the spring and summer shine, Yet within that cot, I ween, Dwells a fairer love of mine. Her sweet smile a spirit pours Which, when blooming seasons fail, Lovelier makes than summer bowers Winter’s grey and naked vale.