O FAIREST of the village-born,
Content, inspire my careless lay!
Let no vain wish, no thought forlorn,
Throw darkness o'er the smiling day.
Forget'st thou, when we wander'd o'er
The silvan Belau's sedgy shore,
Or rang'd the woodland wilds along;
How oft on Herclay's mountains high
We've met the morning's purple eye,
Delay'd by many a song?

From thee, from those by fortune led;
To all the farce of life contin'd;
At once each native pleasure fled,
For thou, sweet nymph, wast left behind.
Yet could I once, once more survey
Thy comely form in mantle grey,
Thy polish'd brow, thy peaceful eye;
Where'er, forsaken fair, you dwell,
Though in this dim sequester'd cell,
With thee I'd live and die.