A SONG.
HARK, the raven flaps his wings,
The owlet leaves her oaken bower,
Now we dance in airy ring,
On mossy banks at ev'ning hour:
And lightly beat the dewy ground
With our tiny feet around.

Vapours dark, or sprites impure,
Our fairy revels ne'er invade,
In the hawthorn brake secure
The glow-worm lights us thro' the shade.
We lightly beat the dewy ground
With our tiny feet around.