See! thence a gay train by the wild rill descends
To join the mixed sports:—Hark! the tumult’s begun.
Be cloudless, ye skies! and be Colin but there;
Not dew-spangled bents on the wide level dale,
Nor morning’s first smile can more lovely appear,
Than his looks,—since my wishes I cannot conceal.
Swift down the mad dance, whilst blest health prompts to move,
We’ll count joys to come, and exchange vows of truth;
And haply, when age cools the transports of love,
Decry, like good folks, the vain follies of youth.”