How oft on the Red Banks sweet Lacca to rove,
And to view the gay prospects with her that love
Where the last rays of sunshine thy beauty disclose
And the winds and the waters are hushed in repose.
Thy groves I sauntered and thy pearly shore.
But gone are my blisses no longer I'll rove
Nor feast on the kisses of her that I love.A rival now banquets on that precious shore
And presses the bosom which I did adore
But may she be happy though sorrowed I be
And green be those valleys I never will see.