The Birth-Day of Phillis

'T IS the Birth-day of Phillis; hark! how the birds sing!
Their notes are remarkably sweet;
The villagers brought all the honours of spring,
And scatter'd their pride at her feet.

With roses and ribands her lambkins are crown'd;
Awhile they respectfully stand;
Then on the gay land with a frolic they bound,
But first take a kiss from her hand.

'Mongst shepherds, in all the gay round of the year,
This, this is their principal day!
It gave Phillis birth; and pray what can appear
More pleasing or lovingly gay?

Hark! hark! how the tabor enlivens the scene!
Ye lads with your lasses advance!
'Tis charming to sport on a daisy-dress'd green:
And Phillis shall lead up the dance.

The Sun — and he shines in his brightest array,
As if on this festival proud,
In order to give us a beautiful day,
Has banish'd each travelling cloud.

The priest pass'd along, and my shepherdess sigh'd!
Sweet Phillis! — I guess'd what she meant:
We stole from the pastimes — I made her my bride;
Her sigh was the sigh of consent.