O come Georgiana! the rose is full blown, The riches of Flora are lavishly strown, The air is all softness, and crystal the streams, The West is resplendently clothed in beams. O come! let us haste to the freshening shades, The quaintly carv'd seats, and the opening glades; Where the faeries are chanting their evening hymns, And in the last sun-beam the sylph lightly swims. And when thou art weary I'll find thee a bed, Of mosses and flowers to pillow thy head: And there Georgiana I'll sit at thy feet, While my story of love I enraptur'd repeat. So fondly I'll breathe, and so softly I'll sigh, Thou wilt think that some amorous Zephyr is nigh: Yet no, as I breathe I will press thy fair knee, And then thou wilt know that the sigh comes from me. Ah! why dearest girl should we lose all these blisses? That mortal's a fool who such happiness misses: So smile acquiescence, and give me thy hand, With love-looking eyes, and with voice sweetly bland.
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