Fair Maria of the Dale

'Tis not the tint of ruby hue, That blushes on the full-blown rose; Nor pearly drops of morning dew, Distilling where the lily blows: Nor fragrant gales that scent the air, Nor sweets exhal'd from flow'ring vale. Nor all these beauties can compare, With fair Maria of the Dale.

The shepherds of the plain declare, They ne'er have seen so sweet a maid; And whilst they view the charming fair, Love doth their easy hearts invade: If she but smiles each blithsome swain Steps forths to breathe his am'rous tale; For ev'ry shepherd strives to gain The lov'd Maria of the dale.