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Sweet are the hours when roseate spring

With health and joy salutes the day,

When zephyr, borne on wanton wing,

Soft wispering‘ wakes the blushing May:

Sweet are the hours, yet not so sweet

As when my blue-eyed maid I meet,

And hear her soul-entrancing tale,

Sequester'd in the shadowy vale.

The mellow horn's long-echoing notes

Startle the morn commingling strong;

At eve, the harp's wild music floats,

And ravish'd silence drinks the song;

Yet sweeter is the song of love,

When Emma's voice enchants the grove,

While listening sylphs repeat the tale,

Sequester'd in the silent vale.