On Richmond Hill there lives a lass
More bright than May-day morn,
Whose charms all other maids surpass--
A rose without a thorn.
This lass so neat, with smiles so sweet.
Has won my right good-will;
I'd crowns resign to call her mine--
Sweet lass of Richmond Hill.
Ye zephyrs gay, that fan the air,
And wanton through the grove,
Oh, whisper to my charming fair,
I'd die for her I love!
How happy will the shepherd be
Who calls this nymph his own!
Oh, may her choice be fix'd on me?
Mine's fix'd on her alone.
_James Upton._