Ye tall, waving trees, tell ye to the breeze,
And bid it to bear away
Afar on its wing, the words that I bring:
"My love is my own to-day."
And you, little bird, your voice must be heard;
Hum out to the flow'rs my lay.
As o'er them you hover, oh! say that I love her,
And say she is mine to-day.
And, oh! pretty flowers, put forth all your powers,
And tell to the bees that stray
Your blossoms among, the words of my song:
Oh! tell of my joy to-day.
And ye, busy bees, give heed to my pleas,
My loving request obey;
As ye fly to and fro, let your fellows all know
The joy that is mine to-day.
Let Nature all see my joy, and for me
Her many-tongued pow'rs array,
And bid them rejoice, and sing with one voice,
Because of my joy to-day.
THE END.
FOOTNOTES:
[A] The war of 1812-14.