Young Colin

The fields were green, the hills were gay, And birds were singing on each spray, When Colin met me in the grove, And told me tender tales of love: Was ever swain so blythe as he, So kind, so faithful, and so free, In spite of all my friends can say, Young Colin stole my heart away.

Whene'er he trips the mead along, He sweetly joins the wood-lark's song; And when he dances on the green, There's none so blythe as Colin seen: If he's but-by, I nothing fear, For I alone am all his care; Then spite of all my friends can say, He's stole my tender heart away.

My mother chides whene'er I roam, And seems surpriz'd I quit my home; But she'd not wonder that I rove, Did she but feel how much I love; Full well I know the generous swain Will never give my bosom pain; Then spite of all my friends can say, He's stole my tender heart away.