Ah! could my Agnes rove these favourite shades,
With mirth and friendship in the Cambrian vale,
In mossy dells, or wild romantic glades,
Where flowers uncultur'd scent the sportive gale;
And could she wander at the morning hour,
To hail with me, the blest return of May;
Or linger sweetly in the woodbine bower,
When early dews begem the weeping spray;
Ah! soon her cheek the lovely mantling bloom
Of sprightly youth, and pleasure, would disclose;
Her lip the smile of Hebe would resume,
And wear the blushes of the vernal rose;
And soon would cherub health with lively grace,
Beam in her eye, and animate her face.