Sweetest warbler of the wood,
Rise thy soft bewitching strain,
And in pleasure’s sprightly mood,
Soar again.

With the sun’s returning beam,
First appearance from the east,
Dimpling every limpid stream,
Up from rest.

Thro’ the airy mountains stray,
Chant thy welcome songs above,
Full of sport and full of play,
Songs of love.

When the evening cloud prevails,
And the sun gives way for night,
When the shadows mark the vales,
Return thy flight.

Like the cottar or the swain,
Gentle shepherd, or the herd;
Best thou till the morn again,
Bonny bird.

Like thee, on freedom’s airy wing,
May the poet’s rapturous spark,
Hail the first approach of spring.
Bonny lark.