'And thither let the village swain repair;
'And, light of heart, the village maiden gay,
'To deck with flowers her half-dishevelled hair,
'And celebrate the merry morn of May.
'There let the shepherd's pipe, the live-long day,
'Fill all the grove with love's bewitching woe;
'And when mild Evening comes with mantle grey,
'Let not the blooming band make haste to go;
'No ghost, nor spell, my long and last abode shall know.