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Oh! fly with me, my lovely maid,Nor be by vulgar fools betray'd;— Fly on the wings of loveWith me to some more blessed clime,Where forests rear their heads sublime, Where waves the spicy grove.
Why wilt thou here the absence mournOf one who never may return? Perhaps the wand'rer nowFrom thy lov'd image falsely flies,And for another fair-one sighs, Forgetful of his vow.
Not such the youth who bows beforeThy matchless charms, and shall adore While life his bosom warms;Oh! come, and bless my happy land,Where all shall bow at thy command, And worship all thy charms.
The sands upon my shores are gold,Where ocean's gentlest waves are roll'd, The rocks refulgent shineWith coral, pearl, and sapphire blue,And precious stones of ev'ry hue, And diamonds from the mine.
There orange groves extend their shade,To screen thy beauties, lovely maid, From noon-day's scorching heat:
