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As playful sporting thro' the vale,
She hails the hour of closing day.
She hails the hour of closing day.
Again I gaze enraptur'd round
On the sweet scene before my view,
And rising from the mossy ground,
To friendship's haunts I bid adieu.
On the sweet scene before my view,
And rising from the mossy ground,
To friendship's haunts I bid adieu.
SONNET.
How sweet to walk at morning hour,
On grassy hill, or woodland glade,
Or when bright Phœbus shews his pow'r,
To seek the grove's embow'ring shade!
On grassy hill, or woodland glade,
Or when bright Phœbus shews his pow'r,
To seek the grove's embow'ring shade!
