Mary, 'tis sweet from all the giddy throng Retired "at eve, when all the birds are still," To hear the lone and plaintive warbler trill, By melody inspired, the liquid song. 'Tis sweet, reclined the woodland shades among, To list from Eol's lyre the tones that fill The breast with tenderness, or wildly thrill, As zephyr breathes the magic chords along. But sweeter than to hear the night-bird singing When peace reposes on the moon-lit plain, Or tones from airy lyre of Eol ringing In bonds of harmony the soul that chain, Oh, sweeter far, diviner pleasure bringing, To hear thee, Mary, pour thy heavenly strain!
