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The BLACK BIRD.
Upon a fair morning for soft recreation,I heard a fair lady was making her moan,With sighing and sobbing, and sad lamentation,Saying, My Black Bird most royal is flown.My thoughts they deceive me,Reflections do grieve me,And I am o'erburden'd with sad misery,Yet if death should blind me,As true love inclines me,My Black Bird I'll seek out, wherever he be.
Once into fair England my Black Bird did flourish,He was the chief flower that in it did spring;Prime ladies of honour his person did nourish,Because that he was the true son of a king:But since that false fortune,Which still is uncertain,Has caused this parting between him and me,His name I'll advance,In Spain and in France,And seek out my Black Bird wherever he be.
The birds of the forest are all met together,The turtle has chosen to dwell with the dove;And I am resolved in foul or fair weather,Once in the Spring to seek out my love.He's all my hearts treasure,My joy and my pleasure,And justly (my love) does my heart follow thee,Who are constant and kind,And couragious of mind,All bless on my Black Bird, wherever he be.
In England my Black Bird and I were together,Where he was still noble and gen'rous of heart,Ah! wo to the time that first he went thither,Alas! be was forc'd from thence to depart,
