When fairies trip round the gay green,
And all nature seems sunk into rest,
Thro' valleys I wander unseen,
My heart with sad sorrow opprest;
And oft by the murmuring streams
Fair Eleanor's loss I deplore,
As alone, by the moon's silver beams,
I sigh for the girl I adore.

When my flocks wander o'er the wide plain,
To some thicket of woodbine I rove,
There pensively tune a soft strain,
Or sing forth the praise of my love.
Where does my fair Eleanor stray?
Must I ne'er see the nymph any more?
Thus distracted I mourn the long day,
And sigh for the girl I adore.

When first I beheld the sweet maid,
By moon--light alone in the vale,
Far, far from the village we stray'd,
Where I tenderly told a soft tale.
How long must I wander forlorn?
Ah! when will my sorrows be o'er?
Such grief it can never be borne--
I sigh for the girl I adore.