BALLAD. (Sweet sung the lark, high pois'd in…)

Sweet sung the lark, high pois'd in air, When on as sweet a morn, In Hymen's fane, one fate to share, Anna and I were sworn.

Sweetly the thrush, in varied song, The vacant joy encreas'd, When kindly came the village throng To join the marriage feast.

But sweeter sang the nightingale, Love's herald of the grove, When Cynthia, through the silver vale, Led to the bow'r of love!

The lark's sweet morning song of joy Is known by that content A lovely girl and blooming boy Are given us to cement:

The thrush still merrily at noon In varied cadence sings, When smiling fortune oft some boon, To cheer our labour, brings;

Nor, time far distant, shall we grieve, Though blessing now and blest, When philomel, at nature's eve, Shall lull us into rest.