On this day of blest delight.
Must I from both with coldness meet alone?
And if her heart with love o'erflows,Let tenderness unite you there,
Have ye e'er known envy at the sight?And not felt your gaze become more bright,When the sun was, on the wings of morning,Darnawend's unnumber'd peaks adorning,
All I lost as soon as dead,Happy as before am I.
What vocation leads thee,While the day is burning,Up this dusty path?Bring'st thou goods from out the townRound the country?Smil'st thou, stranger,At my question?
And now come, thou well-worn broom,