TUNE--'THE LEA RIG.'

WHILE summer laughs in ev'ry grove,
And paints in gayest hues each flower,
Dear charmer, come! my constant love,
To share and grace my rural bower:
There little birds, in sprightly strain,
Still chaunt their loves the boughs among;
While there you ramble with your swain,
They'll cheer you with their artless song.
My garden smiles in fairest dress--
Each shrub and tree their blooms display;
Walks, where the meeting boughs embrace,
Will shield you from the noon-tide ray.
For you I've dress'd my little cot,
Its walls with honeysuckle bound;
O! come and share my humble lot,
And let my hours with love be crown'd!
When Ev'ning, with her robe of grey,
Clothes Nature in a dusky hue,
We'll seek our flocks that homeward stray,
And nip the blade that droops with dew:
Our sheep we joyfully will pen,
With careful hand the fold we'll close;
Then to our peaceful cot again
I'll lead you, to invite repose!