At noontide recline in our cool shady bowers;
Could not such employment still yield you delight,
Where birds are all singing from morning till night?

Soon summer is coming, your flow'rets will bloom,
And spread new enchantments around your old home;
Our grove by the river in beauty is drest,
The Whippowil's notes sweetly soothe us to rest.

The sun, in mild splendor, sinks down in the west,
Encircling with glory the old mountain's crest;
The clouds o'er his head glow with purple and gold,
The river is catching the tinge of each fold.

The scene would be lovely, if sister was here,
But now I'm so lonely, it looks sad and drear;
The beauties of nature are losing their charms,
No more to divert me, till clasped in your arms.

But I'm growing weary, I'll draw to a close,
And seek for refreshment in needful repose;
If this, from a sister can give you delight,
Retire to your chamber, this evening, and write.

Adieu, my dear sister, until your return
Sweet home will be dreary, and almost forlorn;
May God be your guide, your supporter and stay,
Directing your footsteps, wherever you stray.