While larks, with little wing,Fann’d the pure air,Tasting the breathing Spring,Forth I did fare:Gay the sun’s golden eyePeep’d o’er the mountains high;Such thy morn! did I cry,Phillis the fair.8
In each bird’s careless song,Glad I did share;While yon wild-flowers among,Chance led me there!Sweet to the op’ning day,Rosebuds bent the dewy spray;Such thy bloom! did I say,Phillis the fair.16
Down in a shady walk,Doves cooing were;I mark’d the cruel hawkCaught in a snare:So kind may fortune be,Such make his destiny,He who would injure thee,Phillis the fair.24