SONG. (Haste Daphne, to the sweet retreat)

Haste Daphne, to the sweet retreat, Where blooms the scented rose, And violets salute your feet With ev'ry flow'r that blows.

In rapture gaze on yonder fields, In native sweetness drest; Whose richest verdure freshness yields, To each admiring breast.

The woods your next attention calls, Where birds harmonious rove; And whisp'ring gales by lulling falls, In echo fills the grove.

There take a seat beneath the shade, The scorching rays to shun; And should the god of sleep invade, Secluded from the sun.

Until the sky enwrapt with night, In awful gloom appears; All shrinks and mourns departed light, Just emblem of the years.

But soon Aurora gay returns, And bids my Daphne rise; To welcome fresh reviving day, And view the new born prize.