A MODERN MADRIGAL.
Come, for the buds are burst in the warren,
And the lamb’s first bleat is heard in the mead;
Come, be Phyllis, and I’ll be Coryn,
Though flocks we have none to fold or feed.
Come for a ramble down the dingle,
For Spring has taken the Earth to bride;
Leave the cricket to chirp by the ingle,
And forth with me to the rivulet-side.
Lo! how the land has put from off her