Now the meadow, vale, and grove
Echo nought but songs of love;
Health around her fragrance pours,
Flora decks her fav'rite bow'rs.

Nature, smiling, seems to say,
'In thy summer, man, be gay,
'Ere from thee coy Health is fled,
'And life's autumn bends thy head.'

Why then, Love, my thoughts control?
Let me quaff the flowing bowl,
Till I banish hence dull Care,
And forget that Julia's fair.