The MusesSon（2/2）

And when his blossos fly,

Fresh raptures et e eye,

Upon the well-tilld height.

Wheh the lden tree,

Young folks I ce to see,

I set the ovg soon;

His he dull d curls,

The foral aiden whirls,

Obedient to y tune.

Wgs to the feet ye lend,

Oer hill and vale ye send

The lover far fro ho;

When shall I, on your breast,

Ye kdly es, rest,

And cease at length to roa?