O Come Georgiana! The Rose Is Full Blown, The Riches Of Flora Are Lavishly Strown, The Air Is All Softness, And Crystal The Streams, The West Is Resplendently Clothed In Beams. O Come! Let Us Haste To The Freshening Shades, The Quaintly Carv'D Seats, And The Opening Glades; Where The Faeries Are Chanting Their Evening Hymns, And In The Last Sun-Beam The Sylph Lightly Swims. And When Thou Art Weary I'll Find Thee A Bed, Of Mosses And Flowers To Pillow Thy Head: And There Georgiana I'll Sit At Thy Feet, While My Story Of Love I Enraptur'D Repeat. So Fondly I'll Breathe, And So Softly I'll Sigh, Thou Wilt Think That Some Amorous Zephyr Is Nigh: Yet No, As I Breathe I Will Press Thy Fair Knee, And Then Thou Wilt Know That The Sigh Comes From Me. Ah! Why Dearest Girl Should We Lose All These Blisses? That Mortal'S A Fool Who Such Happiness Misses: So Smile Acquiescence, And Give Me Thy Hand, With Love-Looking Eyes, And With Voice Sweetly Bland.