424. Song—Phillis the Fair

 WHILE larks, with little wing,
 Fann’d the pure air,
Tasting the breathing Spring,
 Forth I did fare:
Gay the sun’s golden eye
Peep’d o’er the mountains high;
Such thy morn! did I cry,
 Phillis the fair.



In each bird’s careless song,
 Glad I did share;
While yon wild-flowers among,
 Chance led me there!
Sweet to the op’ning day,
Rosebuds bent the dewy spray;
Such thy bloom! did I say,
 Phillis the fair.



Down in a shady walk,
 Doves cooing were;
I mark’d the cruel hawk
 Caught in a snare:
So kind may fortune be,
Such make his destiny,
He who would injure thee,
 Phillis the fair.

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