Tender as the sweets of Spring
Wafted on the Western gale,
When the breeze with dewy wing
Wanders thro' the Primrose vale;

Tranquil as the hush of night
To the Hermit's holy dream;
While the Moon with lovely light,
Quivers on the rippling stream;

Cheerful as the Beams of Morn,
Laughing on the Mountain's side;
Spotless as the Cygnet's form,
Heaving on the silver'd Tide.

Who can paint this varied grace,
Charms that mock the mimic art?
Yet, my Laura! these I trace
With the pencil of the Heart.