The God of Love

How sweet the rosy blush of morn, How charming is the spring! When dews bespangle every thorn, And sky-larks sweetly sing: Come, then, Florella, let us haste, Each happy hour to prove; The fragrance of the morn to taste, And hail the God of love.

The lambs are sporting on the plain, The kids their gambols try; And ev'ry nymph, and ev'ry swain, With mirth old care defy: With chaplets crown'd they dance along, Each moment to improve; And raise the soft enchanting song, To pleasure and to love.

Ah! let not fear thy breast invade, That seat of downy peace; For all I wish, my charming maid, Thy joy is to increase: The pow'rs above my vows shall hear, Which time can not remove; That I will constant be, my dear, To honour and to love.