4
Awake and join the vocal throng,
Who hail the morning with a song:
To Nannie raise the cheerful lay;
O! bid her haste and come away;
In sweetest smiles herself adorn,
And add new graces to the morn!
O hark, my love! on ev’ry spray,
Each feather'd warbler tunes his lay;
‘Tis beauty fires the ravish’d throng,
And love inspires the melting song:
Then let my raptur'd notes arise,
For beauty darts from Nannie’s eyes,
And love my rising bosom warms,
And fills, my soul with sweet alarms.
O come, my love! thy Colin’s lay
With rapture calls, O come away!
Come, while the Muse this wreath shall twine
Around that modest brow of thine.
O! hither haste, and with thee bring
That beauty blooming like the spring,
Those graces that divinely shine,
And charm this ravish’d breast of mine.
Though I am now a very little lad,
If fighting men cannot be had,
