[From Mona's Isle, 1844]

MY MARY, WILT THOU GO WITH ME?

My Mary, wilt thou go with me
To my sweet Mona’s Isle,
Where thou my native cot shalt see
In humble rural style?
Upon a green, near Corna’s stream,
Thou’lt find the peaceful spot,
Close by a rill that turns a mill,
My old sire’s portion’d lot.

I ‘ll show thee where I ‘ye ofttimes play’d,
And pluck’d the primrose sweet,
Beneath an aged elder’s shade,
My childhood’s calm retreat—
Where in the spring the small birds sing,
And hums the busy bee,
While more remote the cuckoo’s note
Sounds sweetly o’er the lea,

Denoting that the time is near
When hawthorn trees shall bloom,
And that in flow’r shall soon appear
The clust’ring yellow broom:
And where the trout unto the spout
Of the old flaxen mill
I did decoy, when but a boy,
And caught them at my will.

I ‘ll take thee to the moorland side,
Where the blooming heather,
And mountain-thyme, in nature’s pride,
Blend their sweet scents together;
There thou shalt see the mountain bee
Extract the liquid juice,
For winter’s store when fields rio more
His sweet’ning food produce.

We ‘ll then ascend the vast Barrule,
Where, from its russet brow,
Thou ‘lt see where I learnt nature’s school,
Holding my father’s plough
In boyhood state, till doom’d by fate
I cross’d the raging sea
To England’s ground, for fame renown’d,
And fix’d my love on thee!

Then come with me to Mona’s Isle,
It is a rural scene,
I ‘m sure it will life’s cares beguile
As if they ne’er had been;
For scenes like these,
I’m sure will please
Thy sympathetic breast,
Then come with me, my love, and see
The spot that I love best.