Song Xxiii. Ellen And I Poem by Robert Anderson

In Spring, when sweet cowslips adorn the green vale,
And the lark's early melody wakes the fresh morn;
When the ploughman toils hard o'er the hill and the dale,
Or joins in the chase at the sound of the horn;
Then, wearied with labour, to Ellen I fly,
And few are so happy as Ellen and I.

In Summer, when nymphs to the meadows repair,
And trip round the hay--rick all joyous and gay;
When each swain whispers soft a love tale to his fair,
And mirth, love, and innocence crown the long day;
Then at noon to the shade with fair Ellen I fly,
And few are so happy as Ellen and I.

In Autumn, when plenty enlivens the scene,
And round the pil'd sheaves see the reapers all roam;
When the younkers at eve gather round on the green,
To join the fond dance and proclaim harvest home;
Then oft in the throng her sweet form I espy,
And few are so happy as Ellen and I.

In Winter, when Boreas blows keen thro' the vale,
And wither'd and leafless the trees all appear;
When round the warm hearth flies the song, jest, or tale,
To beguile the long nights in this season severe;
Then to Ellen's snug cottage transported I fly,
And few are so happy as Ellen and I.