Up! Quit thy bower, late wears the hour,
Long have the rooks, caw'd round the tower;
On flower and tree lood hums the bee,
The wilding kid sports merrily.
A day so bright, so fresh, so clear,
Shines sweetly when good fortune's near.

Up! Lady fair, and braid thy hair,
And rouse thee in the breezy air;
The lulling stream, that sooth'd thy dream,
Is dancing in the sunny beam:
And hours so sweet, so bright, so gay,
Wil waft good fortune on its way.

Up! Time will tell, the friar's bell
Its service sound hath chimed well;
The aged crone keeps house alone,
And reapers to the fields are gone:
The active day so boon, so bright,
May bring good fortune ere the night.