And Here the Woodland sisters throng,
And fair Contentment’s pleasing train.
Whilst in the Heav’n the stars advance,
With many a maid and many a swain,
Lead up the jocund, rural dance.
Thrice welcome to our calm retreat,
Where innocency oft hath strove
With violet blue, and woodbine sweet,
To form the votive wreath to love:
O! pardon then, our cautious pride—