SWEET warbler! to whose artless song
Soft Music's native powers belong,
Here fix thy haunt; and o'er these plains
Still pour thy wild untutor'd strains,
Still hail the morn with sprightly lay,
And sweetly hymn the parting day:
But sprightlier still, and sweeter pour
Thy song o'er Flavia's favorite bower;
There softly breathe the vary'd sound,
And chant thy loves, or woes around.