A Rose-bud bymy early walk,
Adown a corn-enclosed bawk,
Sae gently bent its thorny stalk,
All on a dewy morning.
Eretwice the shades o’ dawn are fled,
In a’its crimson glory spread,
And drooping rich the dewy head,
It scents the early morning.
Within the bush her covert nest
A little linnet fondly prest;
The dew sat chilly on her breast,
Saeearly in the morning.
She soon shall see her tender brood,
The pride, the pleasure o’the wood,
Amangthe fresh green leaves bedew’d,
Awake the early morning.
So thou, dear bird, young Jeany fair,
On trembling string orvocal air,
Shall sweetly pay the tender care
That tents thy early morning.
So thou, sweet Rose-bud, young and gay,
Shalt beauteous blaze upon the day,
And bless the parent’s evening ray
That watch’d thy early morning.