From Songs, hymns, and psalms, by Jonas Hanway, p10, 1783.

listen to the tune (midi file)

Lands in an Improved State.

 Our Banks they are furnish'd with Bees,
 Whose murmur invites one to sleep,
 Our Grotto's are shaded with Trees,
 And our Hills are white over with Sheep,
 We seldom have met with a loss,
 Such Health do our Mountains bestow,
 Our Fountains all border'd with Moss,
 Where the Harebels and Violets grow,
 Where the Harebels and Violets grow.
 
 I've found out a gift for my friend,
 I've found where the blackbirds to breed;
 But will not on plunder depend,
 He'll say 'twas a barb'rous deed.
 For 'he' ne'er could be true, he aver'd,
 Who could rob a poor bird of his young,
 And I lov'd his the more, when I heard
 Such tenderness fall from his tongue.