Now let me sit beneath the whitening thorn,
And mark thy spreading tints steal o’er the dale;
And watch with patient eye,
Thy fair, unfolding charms.
O nymph, approach! while yet the temperate sun
With bashful forehead through the cold, moist air,
Throws his young maiden beams,
And with chaste kisses woos
The earth’s fair bosom; while the streaming vail
Of lucid clouds, with kind and frequent shade