This is Harriet's holiday: Bring the lyre, and bring the lute, Bring the sweetly-breathing flute;
Wreaths of cowslips hither bring, All the honours of the spring;
Adorn the grot with all that's gay, Fays and Fairies haste away.
Bring the vine to Bacchus dear, Bring the purple lilac here, Festoons of roses, sweetest flower, The yellow primrose of the bower, These to Harriet hither bring, And sweetly in return she'll sing.
Be the brilliant grotto scene
The palace of the Fairy Queen.
Form the sprightly circling dance, Fairies here your steps advance;