Stay, sweet enchanter of the grove,
Leave not so soon thy native tree;
O! warble still those notes of love,
While my fond heart responds to thee.
Rest thy soft bosom on the spray,
Till chilly autumn frowns severe;
Then charm me with thy parting lay,
And I will answer with a tear.
But soon as Spring enwreath’d with flow’rs,
Comes dancing o’er the new drest plain,
Return and cheer thy natal bow’rs,
My robin, with those notes again;
And should’st thou sing, sweet bird, with glee,
Sooth’d sorrow’s self shall list to thee.