On a green shady bank as young Theodore lay,
Lull'd to sleep by the murmuring brook,
Annette, as she carelessly wander'd that way,
Stole his garland, his pipe, and his crook;
Then instantly hied to a neighbouring shade,
While unheeded her flock stray'd around;
And so sweet was the music the shepherdess play'd,
That all nature seem'd pleas'd with the sound.

Awak'd from his slumber, young Theodore gaz'd,
Whilst Echo enliven'd the plain,
Then sought for his pipe; but was strangely amaz'd,
And thus sung his sorrowful strain:
'My wreath was an emblem of Annette the fair,
'The flow'rets so gay were her choice;
'My pipe often sooth'd me when sunk in despair,
'As I listen'd at eve to her voice.

'How oft have I charm'd the gay nymphs in the grove,
'Where now I may heave the sad sigh.'
Thus mourn'd the young shepherd, while Annette his love
In a thicket stood listening by:
She eagerly flew to her lover's relief;
He tenderly hung on her breast;
The smiles of the maid soon dispell'd all his grief--
Fond lovers can fancy the rest.