Classic Poem

With Thee alone how blest to stray!
While evening still obscures the day,
While no rude Gust Thy bosom heaves,
Nor sighs awake the trembling leaves.

There, all beneath the Moon's pale beam,
We'll tread the margin of yon stream
And every sigh to Echo tell,
Who to our soft song mourneth well;
Whilst the still vale shall hear our Lay,
With Thee alone how blest to stray!