ayr, gurgling, kiss'd his pebbled shore,

o'erhung with wild-woods, thickening green;

the fragrant birch and hawthorn hoar,

'twin'd amorous round the raptur'd scene:

the flowers sprang wanton to be prest,

the birds sang love on every spray;

till too, too soon, the glowing west,

proclaim'd the speed of winged day.

still o'er these scenes my mem'ry wakes,

and fondly broods with miser-care;

time but th' impression stronger makes,

as streams their channels deeper wear,

my mary! dear departed shade!

where is thy blissful place of rest?

see'st thou thy lover lowly laid?

hear'st thou the groans that rend his breast?