Now if the lonely home be mine In which my fathers dwelt, And I can worship at the shrine Where they in fervour knelt; No glare of wealth, or honour high, Shall lure me from thy strand; Oh, I would yield my parting sigh In thee, my native land!
Eliza fair, the mirth of May Resounds from glen and tree; Yet thy mild voice, I need not say, Is dearer far to me. And while I thus a garland cull, To grace that brow of thine, My cup of pure delight is full-- A shepherd's life be mine!
Believe me, maid, the means of wealth, Howe'er profuse they be, Produce not pleasure that in health Is shared by you and me! 'Tis when elate with thoughts of joy We find a heart like thine, That objects grateful glad the eye-- A shepherd's life be mine!
O mark, Eliza, how the flowers Around us sweetly spring; And list how in these woodland bowers The birds with rapture sing; Behold that vale whose streamlet clear Flows on in waving line; Can Paradise more bright appear? A shepherd's life be mine!
Now, dearest, not the morning bright, That dawns o'er hill and lea, Nor eve, with all its golden light, Can charm me without thee. To feel the magic of thy smile-- To catch that glance of thine-- To talk to thee of love the while, A shepherd's life be mine!
Thou morn full of beauty That chases the night, And wakens all Nature With gladness and light, When warbles the linnet Aloof from its nest, O scatter thy fragrance Round her I love best!
Ye hills, dark and lofty, That near her ascend, If she in her pastime Across thee shall wend, Let every lone pathway In wild flowers be drest, To welcome the footsteps Of her I love best!
Thou sun, proudly sailing O'er depths of the sky, Dispensing beneath thee Profusion and joy, Until in thy splendour Thou sink'st to the west, Oh, gaze not too boldly On her I love best!
Ye wild roving breezes, I charge you, forbear To wantonly tangle The braids of her hair; Breathe not o'er her rudely, Nor sigh on her breast, Nor kiss you the sweet lip Of her I love best!
Thou evening, that gently Steals after the day, To robe with thy shadow The landscape in gray, O fan with soft pinion My dearest to rest! And calm be the slumber Of her I love best!
Ye angels of goodness, That shield us from ill, The purest of pleasures Awarding us still, As near her you hover, Oh, hear my request! Pour blessings unnumber'd On her I love best!