How bright the odd daisies Peep under the stubbs! How bright pilewort blazes Where ruddled sheep rubs The old willow trunk by the side of the brook, Where soon for blue violets the children will look! By the cot green and mossy Feed sparrow and hen: On the ridge brown and glossy They cluck now and then. The wren cocks his tail o'er his back by the stye, Where his green bottle nest will be made by and bye. Here's bunches of chickweed, With small starry flowers, Where red-caps oft pick seed In hungry Spring hours. And blue cap and black cap, in glossy Spring coat, Are a-peeping in buds without singing a note. Why silent should birds be And sunshine so warm? Larks hide where the herds be By cottage and farm. If wild flowers were blooming and fully set in the Spring May-be all the birdies would cheerfully sing. MEET ME TO-NIGHT O meet me to-night by the bright starlight, Now the pleasant Spring's begun. My own dear maid, by the greenwood shade, In the crimson set of the sun, Meet me to-night. The sun he goes down with a ruby crown To a gold and crimson bed; And the falling dew, from heaven so blue, Hangs pearls on Phoebe's head. Love, leave the town. Come thou with me; 'neath the green-leaf tree We'll crop the bonny sweet brere. O come, dear maid, 'neath the hazlewood shade, For love invites us there. Come then with me. The owl pops, scarce seen, from the ivy green, With his spectacles on I ween: See the moon's above and the stars twinkle, love; Better time was never seen. O come, my queen. The fox he stops, and down he drops His head beneath the grass. The birds are gone; we're all alone; O come, my bonny lass. Come, O come! YOUNG JENNY The cockchafer hums down the rut-rifted lane Where the wild roses hang and the woodbines entwine, And the shrill squeaking bat makes his circles again Round the side of the tavern close by the sign. The sun is gone down like a wearisome queen, In curtains the richest that ever were seen. The dew falls on flowers in a mist of small rain, And, beating the hedges, low fly the barn owls; The moon with her horns is just peeping again, And deep in the forest the dog-badger howls; In best bib and tucker then wanders my Jane By the side of the woodbines which grow in the lane. On a sweet eventide I walk by her side; In green hoods the daisies have shut up their eyes. Young Jenny is handsome without any pride; Her eyes (O how bright!) have the hue of the skies. O 'tis pleasant to walk by the side of my Jane At the close of the day, down the mossy green lane.