H 



HARK! HARK! 



ARK ! hark ! the lark at heaven's gate sings, 



And Phoebus 'gins arise, 

 His steeds to water at those springs 



On chaliced flowers that hes ; 

 And winking Mary-buds begin 



To ope their golden eyes ; 

 With every thing that pretty is. 



My lady sweet, arise ; 

 Arise, arise. 



SHAKESPEARE 



SONGS FROM * ARCADES 



o 



'ER the smooth enamelled green, 

 Wliere no print of step hath been. 



Follow me, as I sing 



And touch the warbled string : 

 Under the shady roof 

 Of branching elm star-proof 



Follow me. 

 I will bring you where she sits. 

 Clad in splendour as befits 



Her deity. 

 Such a rural Queen 

 All Arcadia hath not seen. 



