We Him haw call my awn.
Reading edition
The branches o’ the woodbine hide My little cottage wall, An’ though ’tis but a humble thatch, Aw envy not the hall.
The wooded hills before my eyes Are spread both far and wide; An’ Nature’s grandeur seems to dress, In all her lovely pride.
It is, indeed, a lovely spot, O’ singing birds an’ flowers; ’Mid Nature’s grandeur it is true, I pass away my hours.
Yet think not ’tis this lovely glen, So dear in all its charms; Its blossomed banks and rippled reels, Freed from the world’s alarms.
For should love’s magic change the scene, To trackless lands unknown; ’Twor Eden in the desert wild, Wi him aw call my own.