SONG.

LOVE and harmony combine,

And around our souls entwine,

While thy branches mix with mine, And our roots together join.

Joys upon our branches sit,
Chirping loud and singing sweet;
Like gentle streams beneath our feet,
Innocence and virtue meet.

Thou the golden fruit dost bear,
I am clad in flowers fair;

Thy sweet boughs perfume the air,
And the turtle buildeth there.

There she sits and feeds her young,
Sweet I hear her mournful song;
And thy lovely leaves among
There is Love; I hear his tongue.

There his charming nest doth lay,
There he sleeps the night away;
There he sports along the day,
And doth among our branches play.

SONG.

I

LOVE the jocund dance,

The softly-breathing song,

Where innocent eyes do glance,

And where lisps the maiden's tongue.

I love the laughing vale,

I love the echoing hill,

Where mirth does never fail,

And the jolly swain laughs his fill.

I love the pleasant cot,

I love the innocent bower, Where white and brown is our lot,

Or fruit in the mid-day hour.

I love the oaken seat

Beneath the oaken tree,

Where all the old villagers meet, And laugh our sports to see.

I love our neighbours all—
But, Kitty, I better love thee;
And love them I ever shall,

But thou art all to me.

SONG.

MEMORY, hither come,

And tune your merry notes:

And, while upon the wind

Your music floats,

I'll pore upon the stream
Where sighing lovers dream,
And fish for fancies as they pass
Within the watery glass.

I'll drink of the clear stream,
And hear the linnet's song,
And there I'll lie and dream
The day along :

And, when night comes, I'll go

To places fit for woe,

Walking along the darkened valley

With silent Melancholy.

Lo to the vault

Of paved heaven,

With sorrow fraught,

My notes are driven :

They strike the ear of Night,

Make weep the eyes of Day; They make mad the roaring winds, And with tempests play.

Like a fiend in a cloud,

With howling woe

* Evidently "birds," as in Gilchrist's edition.