The morning smiled serenely gay,
All nature beamed delight,
The songster hailed the birth of May,
Each prospect charmed the sight.
'Twas there I saw the lovely maid,
And think I see her still,
In all the pride of youth displayed,
The lass of Primrose Hill...
Sweet sung the linnet and the thrush,
Upon the bending spray,
And vocal was each vernal blush,
In rapture with the May.
Enraptured then I viewed the maid,
And think I see her still,
In all the pride of youth displayed,
The lass of Primrose Hill.
This is from an 18th century ballad.