FANNY of the DALE

Let the declining damask rose, With envious grief look pale; The summer bloom more freely glows In Fanny of the dale.

Is there a sweet that decks the field, Or scents the morning gale; Can such a vernal fragrance yield, As Fanny of the dale?

The painted belles, at court rever'd. Look lifeless, cold, and stale: How faint their beauties, when compar'd With Fanny of the dale!

The willow binds Pastora's brows, Her fond advances fail: For Damon pours his warmest vows To Fanny of the dale.

Might honest truth, at last, succeed, And artless love prevail; Thrice happy cou'd he tune his reed, With Fanny of the dale!