The Lark and Wren.
[James Macdonald.—Here first printed.—Air, "Chough and Crow."]
The lark and wren are long awake,
The throstle sings in glee;
The morning breeze sweeps o'er the brake
In joyous liberty.
The dew bells swing in beauty bland,
The streamlet chants its lay;
Then bear a hand, my merry band,
It is our harvest day.
The village maids, all braided fair,
Are tripping o'er the green,
And shepherd lads, with floating hair,
Are kissing beauty's queen.
Each happy swain o'er all the land
Enjoys this morning gay,
Then bear a hand, my merry band,
This is our harvest day.
When evening brings its shady hour
Then who so blythe as we?
The lamp of love in barn and bower
Lights up a scene of glee;
Old Time forgets his running sand
And joins our roundelay,
Now bear a hand, my merry band,
This is our harvest day.