Up! Quit thy bower

Up! Quit thy bower, late wears the hour,

Long have the rooks, caw'd round the tower;

On flower and tree lood hums the bee,

The wilding kid sports merrily.

A day so bright, so fresh, so clear,

Shines sweetly when good fortune's near.

Up! Lady fair, and braid thy hair,

And rouse thee in the breezy air;

The lulling stream, that sooth'd thy dream,

Is dancing in the sunny beam:

And hours so sweet, so bright, so gay,

Wil waft good fortune on its way.

Up! Time will tell, the friar's bell

Its service sound hath chimed well;

The aged crone keeps house alone,

And reapers to the fields are gone:

The active day so boon, so bright,

May bring good fortune ere the night.