8
It was down in the vale, where the sweet Torza gliding,
Its murmuring stream ripples through the dark grove,
I own'd what I felt, all my passion confiding,
To ease the fond sighs of the lad that I love.
Then I'll weave, &c.
FAR, FAR AT SEA.
'Twas night when the bell had toll’d twelve,
And poor Susan was laid on her pillow,
In her ear whisper’d some fleeting elve—
Your love now lies tost on a billow,
Far, far at sea.
All was dark, when she woke out of breath,
Not an object her fears could discover;
All was still as the silence of death,
Save Fancy, which painted her lover,
Far, far at sea.
So she whisper'd a prayer-clos'd her eyes,
But the phantom still haunted her pillow,
While in terror she echo'd his cries,
As struggling he sank in a billow,
Far, far at sea.
F I N I S.
