Haste, my Cynthia , haste away,
Let us now keep Holiday:
Let us on the upland Lawn
Hail the gently rising Dawn.
Now the Air, serene, and calm,
Softly breathes delicious Balm,
And the Morn, with tuneful Voice,
Bids the inmost Soul rejoice.
Let us then together stray,
Where the bleating Lambkins play,
Listen as we range along
To the Black-bird's chearful Song,
And with Peace, and smiling Mirth,
Mark the Prime of Nature's Birth.
What has Cynthia's Breast to fear?
Innocence is Guardian there ;
Innocence a Safety yields
Better than a thousand Shields:
Mindless then of Slander's Tongue,
Let us, Cynthia , range along;
Heedless of approaching Night,
Whilst the Morn of Life is bright,
Let us press the velvet Bed,
Where the Crocus rears its Head,
And in sacred Silence prove
All the chaste Delights of Love.
Haste, my Cynthia , haste away,
Let us now keep Holiday:
See you Nymph of heavenly Mein,
Walking on the radiant Green,
Mark her slow, her stately Pace,
Easy Form, and lovely Face;
View her in her rich Array,
Deck'd as on a bridal Day:
'Tis the Spring — celestial Maid!
Pointing to the blossom'd Shade:
Now, ye Virgins! and ye Swains!
Tune your sweet, your artless Strains,
And ye woodland Warblers sing!
Welcome to the beauteous Spring .
See she scatters as she comes
Mingled Flow'rs, and rosy Blooms;
Infant Breezes round her play,
Murmuring Floods bedew her Way,
Kindly rolls her azure Eye,
Streaming with Excess of Joy,
Loosely floats her verdant Vest,
Mark oh! mark her heaving Breast.
Haste, my Cynthia , haste away,
Let us now keep Holiday:
Time is ever on the Wing,
Youth is but a short-liv'd Spring ,
Wintry Age will soon invade,
And with Snow the Temples shade;
Let us then our Time improve
With the dear Delights of Love.