How sweet I roam’d from field to field,
…And tasted all the summer’s pride,
‘Till I the prince of love beheld,
…Who in the sunny beams did glide!
He shew’d me lilies for my hair,
…And blushing roses for my brow;
He led me through his gardens fair,
…Where all his golden pleasures grow.
With sweet May dews my wings were wet,
…And Phoebus fir’d my vocal rage;
He caught me in his silken net,
…And shut me in his golden cage.
He loves to sit and hear me sing,
…Then, laughing, sports and plays with me;
Then stretches out my golden wing,
…And mocks my loss of liberty.
The Bard on the Hill 