In April When Primroses (Douglas Brooks-Davies)

In April, when primroses paint the sweet plain,
And summer approaching rejoiceth the swain,
The yellow-hair'd laddie would oftentimes go
To wilds and deep glens, where the hawthorn-trees grow.
There, under the shade of an old sacred thorn,
With freedom he sung his loves, evening and morn;
He sang with so soft and enchanting a sound,
That Sylvans and Fairies unseen danc'd around
The shepherd thus sung: though young Maya be fair,
Her beauty is dash'd with a scornful proud air;
But Susie was handsome, and sweetly could sing,
Her breath like the breezes perfum'd in the spring.
That mamma's fine daughter, with all her great dower,
Was awkwardly airy, and frequently sour;
Then, sighing, he wish'd would parents agree,
The witty sweet Susie his mistress might be.