And when his blossos fly,
Fresh raptures et e eye,
Upon the well-tilld height.
Wheh the lden tree,
Young folks I ce to see,
I set the ovg soon;
His he dull d curls,
The foral aiden whirls,
Obedient to y tune.
Wgs to the feet ye lend,
Oer hill and vale ye send
The lover far fro ho;
When shall I, on your breast,
Ye kdly es, rest,
And cease at length to roa?