Oft has the shepherd tun'd his vocal reed,
And pledg'd his vows to meet the coming night;
The constant virgin, whom with swiftest speed,
Cynthia's guided by her heav'nly light.

Oft has the miser bless'd the midnight hour,
When bright Cynthia's blaz'd the misty earth,
To secret, ah! perhaps, some orphan's dow'r,
Robb'd by the wretch of all its little worth.

Oft hast thou seen the sailor void of fear,
(Save one that Nature fondly whisper'd love)
Press to his lips the image of his dear,
While 'gainst the surge the lab'ring vessel's strove;
And, ah! Cynthia, what hast thou not seen,
When love's met love, in woodbine bow'r or green!