Gipsy Glee.
The chough and crow to roost are gone,
The owl sits on the tree,
The hush’d wind wails with feeble moan,
Like infant charity.
The wildfire dances on the fen,
The red star sheds its ray,
Uprouse ye, then, my merry men,
It is our op’ning day.
Uprouse ye, then, &c.