ROSY HANNAH.

A Spring o'erhung with many a flow'r,

The grey sand dancing in its bed,

Embank'd beneath a Hawthorn bower,

Sent forth its waters near my head:

A rosy Lass approach'd my view;

I caught her blue eye's modest beam:

The stranger nodded‘ How d'ye do!’

And leap'd across the infant stream.

The water heedless pass'd away:

With me her glowing image stay'd.

I strove, from that auspicious day,

To meet and bless the lovely Maid.

I met her where beneath our feet

Through downy Moss the Wild-Thyme grew;

Nor Moss elastic, flow'rs though sweet,

Match'd Hannah's cheek of rosy hue.

I met her where the dark Woods wave,

And shaded verdure skirts the plain;

And when the pale Moon rising gave

New glories to her cloudy train.

From her sweet Cot upon the Moor

Our plighted vows to Heaven are flown;

Truth made me welcome at her door,

And rosy Hannah is my own.