The American Songster, Song

In my pleasant native plains, Wing'd with bliss each moment slew; Nature there inspir'd the strains, Simple as the joys I knew; Jocund morn and evening gay Claim'd the merry roundelay.

Fields and flocks, and fragrant flow'rs, All that health and joy impart; Call'd for artless music's pow'rs, Faithful echoes to the heart! Happy hours, for ever gay, Claim'd the merry roundelay.

But the breath of genial spring Walk'd the warblers of the grove: Who, sweet birds that heard you sing, Wou'd not join the song of love? Your sweet notes and chaunting gay Claim'd the merry roundelay.