The forests and copses around,
Their foilage begin to display;
The copses and forests resound
With the music and disport of May.

E'er Phoebus has gladded the plains,
E'er? the mountains are tip'd with his gold.
The sky larks shrill matin proclaims,
A songster, harmonius as bold.

At eve, when the shadows prevail;
And night throws her mantle around;
The nightingale warbles her tale
And harmony dwells in the sound.

The grasshopper chirps at our feet,
The butterfly wings it along,
The season of love will compleat
What they want in the raptures of song.

Not an insect that flits o'er the lawn
But gambols in pleasure and play,
Rejoicing the winter is gone,
And hailing the pleasanter May.

Let us join in their revels my dear!
To innocent joy give a loose!
No surfeits or harm can we fear
The pleasures we cannot abuse.

By the side of a murmuring stream,
Where willows the margin imbrown;
We'll wander, unheeded, unseen,
Nor envy the taste of the town.

In scenes, where confusion and noise
And riots loud voice is unknown;
We'll humbly participate joys,
That ever from greatness have flown.

Let avarice smile o'er its gain,
Ambition exult at its height,
Dissipation unloose every rein,
In pursuit of forbidden delight.