The wood-lark whistles through the grove

The wood-lark whistles through the grove, Tuning the sweetest notes of love, To please his female on the spray; Perch'd by his side, her little breast Swells with her lover's joy confest, To hear, and to reward the lay.

Come then, my fair one, let us prove From their example how to love; For thee the early pipe I'll breathe; And when my flocks return to fold, Their shepherd to thy bosom hold, And crown him with the nuptial wreath.