The American Songster, Song

The silver moon's enamour'd beam Steals softly through the night, To wanton with the winding stream, And kiss reflected light: To courts be gone, heart-soothing sleep, Where you've so seldom been, While I May's wakeful vigil keep With Kate of Aberdeen.

The nymphs and swains expectant wait, In primrose chaplets gay, Till morn unbars her golden gate, And gives the promis'd May: The nymphs and swains shall all declare The promis'd May when seen, Not half so fragrant, half so fair, As Kate of Aberdeen.

I'll tune my pipe to playful notes, And rouse yon nodding grove, Till new-wak'd birds distend their throats, And hail the maid I love: At her approach the lark mistakes, And quits the new dress'd green: Fond birds, 'tis not the morning breaks, 'Tis Kate of Aberdeen.

Now blithsome o'er the dewy mead, Where elves desportive play, The festal dance young shepherds lead, Or sing their lov'd-tun'd lay, Till May in morning robe draws nigh, And claims a virgin queen; The nymphs and swains exulting cry, "Here's Kate of Aberdeen."