O come, Georgiana! the rose is full blown,
The riches of Flora are lavishly strown,
The air is all softness, and crystal the streams;
The West is resplendently clothed in beams.
O come! let us haste to the freshening shades,
The quaintly carv’d seats, and the opening glades;
Where the faeries are chanting their evening hymns,
And the last sun-beam the sylph lightly swims.
And when thou art weary, I’ll find thee a bed
Of mosses and flowers to pillow thy head:
And there Georgiana I’ll sit at thy feet,
While my story of love I enraptur’d repeat.
So fondly I’ll breathe, and so softly I’ll sigh,
Thou wilt think that some amorous zephyr is nigh;
Yet no—as I breathe I will press thy fair knee,
And then thou wilt know that the sigh comes from me.
Ah! why, dearest girl, should we lose all these blisses?
That mortal’s a fool who such happiness misses:
So smile acquiescence, and give me thy hand,
With love-looking eyes, and with voice sweetly bland.