Mary Dove

Sweet Summer, breathe your softest gales      To charm my lover's ear:      Ye zephyrs, tell your choicest tales      Where'er she shall appear;      And gently wave the meadow grass      Where soft she sets her feet,      For my love is a country lass,      And bonny as she's sweet.      The hedges only seem to mourn,      The willow boughs to sigh,      Though sunshine o'er the meads sojourn,      To cheer me where I lie:      The blackbird in the hedgerow thorn      Sings loud his Summer lay;      He seems to sing, both eve and morn,      "She wanders here to-day."      The skylark in the summer cloud      One cheering anthem sings,      And Mary often wanders out      To watch his trembling wings.      * * * * *      I'll wander down the river way,      And wild flower posies make,      For Nature whispers all the day      She can't her promise break.      The meads already wear a smile,      The river runs more bright,      For down the path and o'er the stile      The maiden comes in sight.      The scene begins to look divine;      We'll by the river walk.      Her arm already seems in mine,      And fancy hears her talk.      A vision, this, of early love:      The meadow, river, rill,      Scenes where I walked with Mary Dove,      Are in my memory still.