Rosy Hannah.

A Spring o'erhung with many a flow'r,     The grey sand dancing in its bed,     Embank'd beneath a Hawthorn bower,     Sent forth its waters near my head:     A rosy Lass approach'd my view;     I caught her blue eye's modest beam:     The stranger nodded 'How d'ye do!'     And leap'd across the infant stream.     The water heedless pass'd away:     With me her glowing image stay'd.     I strove, from that auspicious day,     To meet and bless the lovely Maid.     I met her where beneath our feet     Through downy Moss the Wild-Thyme grew;     Nor Moss elastic, flow'rs though sweet,     Match'd Hannah's cheek of rosy hue.     I met her where the dark Woods wave,     And shaded verdure skirts the plain;     And when the pale Moon rising gave     New glories to her cloudy train.     From her sweet Cot upon the Moor     Our plighted vows to Heaven are flown;     Truth made me welcome at her door,     And rosy Hannah is my own.