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Divider from 'The Belfast Maid's Lamentation', a chapbook printed in Glasgow in 1803

THE BELFAST MAID'S LAMENTATION.

Come all you pretty maids, take warning by me,
And let not love affect you in any degree,
For I was cross'd in love, and love it was my pain,
By a handsome youth that has cross'd o'er the main.

O that I was a little bird, or had I wings to fly,
I'd to the field of battle go and on him I would lie,
With my flutt'ring wings his bleeding wounds I'd clean,
And on his lovely bosom I'd ever remain.

But now my love's gone, I'll wander and roam,
Thro each lonesome valley making my moan,
The small birds of the bushes will join and pity me,
Since I have lost my jewel and him I'll never see.

Ye maidens take pity on a poor wretched maid,
Who's with grief afflicted, by Cupid's dart betray'd;
Ye gods of love assist me my burning love to quench,
I'm wounded by a young man that's gone to fight the French.

His lips are like the coral, his cheeks like the rose,
His skin is like the lilly, his eyes are black as floes,
He's proper, tall and handsome in every degree,
He has cross'd the wide ocean to face his enemy.

If to the field of battle my darling he goes,
Guardian angels protect him from his daring foes,
May he be crown'd with laurels the boy that I adore,
And may I live to see him in Belfast town once more.

If by the cruel French my darling should be slain,
Then for ever single for his fake I will remain,
To no mortal man breathing will I give my hand,
Until I fee my jewel in his own native land.