On thy lov'd banks, sweet river, free
From wordly care and vanity,
I could my every hour confine,
And think true happiness was mine.

Sweet river, in thy gentle stream
Myriads of funny beings swim:
The watchful trout with speckled pride;
The perch, the dace in silvered pride;
The princely salmon, sturgeon brave,
And lamprey, emblem of the knave.

Beneath thy banks, thy shades among,
The muses, mistresses of song,
Delight to sit, to tune the lyre,
And fan the heav'n-descended fire.

Here nymphs dwell, fraught with every grace,
The faultless form, the sparkling face,
The generous breast, by virtue form'd,
With innocence, with friendship warm'd;
Of feelings tender as the dove,
And yielding to the voice of love.

Happiest of all the happy swains
Are those who till thy fertile plains;
With freedom, peace, and plenty crown'd,
They see the varying year go round.

But, more than all, there Fanny dwells,
For whom, departing from their cells,
The muses wreaths of laurel twine,
And bind around her brows divine;
For whom the dryads of the woods,
For whom the nereidas of the floods,
Those as for Dian fam'd of old,
These as for Thetis reverence hold;
With whom, if I could live and die,
With joy I'd live, and die with joy.