Sweet Auburn! loveliest village of the plain, Where health and plenty cheer'd the laboring swain, Where smiling spring its earliest visit paid, And parting summer's lingering blooms delay'd-- Dear lovely bowers of innocence and ease, Seats of my youth, when every sport could please-- How often have I loiter'd o'er thy green, Where humble happiness endear'd each scene; How often have I paus'd on every charm-- The sheltered cot, the cultivated farm, The never failing brook, the busy mill, The decent church that topp'd the neighboring hill, The hawthorn bush with seats beneath the shade For talking age and whispering lovers made; How often have I bless'd the coming day When toil remitting lent its turn to play, And all the village train from labor free, Led up their sports beneath the spreading tree-- While many a pastime circled in the shade, The young contending as the old survey'd, And many a gambol frolick'd o'er the ground, And sleights of art and feats of strength went round: And still, as each repeated pleasure tir'd, Succeeding sports the mirthful band inspir'd-- The dancing pair that simply sought renown By holding out to tire each other down, The swain mistrustless of his smutted face While secret laughter titter'd round the place, The bashful virgin's sidelong looks of love, The matron's glance that would those looks reprove. These were thy charms, sweet village! sports like these, With sweet succession, taught even toil to please; These round thy bowers their cheerful influence shed; These were thy charms--but all these charms are fled. [Illustration: The hawthorn bush]