On A Bank Of Flowers

     On a bank of flowers, in a summer day,
     For summer lightly drest,
     The youthful, blooming Nelly lay,
     With love and sleep opprest;
     When Willie, wand'ring thro' the wood,
     Who for her favour oft had sued;
     He gaz'd, he wish'd
     He fear'd, he blush'd,
     And trembled where he stood.

     Her closed eyes, like weapons sheath'd,
     Were seal'd in soft repose;
     Her lip, still as she fragrant breath'd,
     It richer dyed the rose;
     The springing lilies, sweetly prest,
     Wild-wanton kissed her rival breast;
     He gaz'd, he wish'd,
     He mear'd, he blush'd,
     His bosom ill at rest.

     Her robes, light-waving in the breeze,
     Her tender limbs embrace;
     Her lovely form, her native ease,
     All harmony and grace;
     Tumultuous tides his pulses roll,
     A faltering, ardent kiss he stole;
     He gaz'd, he wish'd,
     He fear'd, he blush'd,
     And sigh'd his very soul.

     As flies the partridge from the brake,
     On fear-inspired wings,
     So Nelly, starting, half-awake,
     Away affrighted springs;
     But Willie follow'd—as he should,
     He overtook her in the wood;
     He vow'd, he pray'd,
     He found the maid
     Forgiving all, and good.