Heedless wanderer, come not here
with clamorous voice, or footstep rude,
For Harmony’s sweet sake forbear
To violate this solitude.
For ne’er the nightingale forsakes
This haunt when hawthorn blossoms spring;
Veil’d in the shade of tangled brakes,
She calls her nestlings forth to sing.
Hark! catch you not their warbling wild,
That softly flow the leaves among?
Now loudly shrill, now sweetly mild.
The descant of their thrilling song.
The earliest primrose of the year
Beneath delights its flowers to spread;
The clustering hare-bell lingers near
The cowslip’s dew-bespangled bed.
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