WHILE larks, with little wing,
Fannd the pure air,
Tasting the breathing Spring,
Forth I did fare:
Gay the suns golden eye
Peepd oer the mountains high;
Such thy morn! did I cry,
Phillis the fair.
In each birds careless song,
Glad I did share;
While yon wild-flowers among,
Chance led me there!
Sweet to the opning day,
Rosebuds bent the dewy spray;
Such thy bloom! did I say,
Phillis the fair.
Down in a shady walk,
Doves cooing were;
I markd the cruel hawk
Caught in a snare:
So kind may fortune be,
Such make his destiny,
He who would injure thee,
Phillis the fair.
