Song. "There's The Daisy, The Woodbine"

There's the daisy, the woodbine, And crow-flower so golden; There's the wild rose, the eglantine, And May-buds unfolding; There are flowers for my fairy, And bowers for my love: Wilt thou gang with me, Mary, To the banks of Brooms-grove? There's the thorn-bush and the ash-tree To shield thee from the heat, While the brook to refresh thee Runs close by thy feet; The thrushes are chanting clear, In the pleasures of love; Thou'rt the only thing wanting here 'Mid the sweets of Brooms-grove. Then come ere a minute's gone, Since the long summer's day Puts her wings swift as linnets' on For hieing away. Then come with no doubtings near, To fear a false love; For there's nothing without thee dear, Can please in Brooms-grove. The woodbine may nauntle here, In blossoms so fine, The wild roses mantling near In blushes may shine; Mary queen of each blossom proves, She's the blossom I love, She's the all that my bosom loves 'Mong the sweets of Brooms-grove.