SONG.
But, that sweet village where my black-eyed maid
Closes her eyes in sleep beneath night's shade
Whene'er I enter, more than mortal fire
Burns in my soul, and does my song inspire.
SONG.
WHEN early Mom walks forth in sober
grey,
Then to my black-eyed maid I haste
away.
Evening sits beneath her dusky bower,
ind gently sighs away the silent hour,
The village bell alarms, away I go,
And the vale darkens at my pensive woe.
To that sweet village where my black-eyed maid
Both drop a tear beneath the silent shade
I turn my eyes ; and pensive as I go
Curse my black stars, and bless my pleasing woe.
Oft, when the Summer sleeps among the trees.
Whispering faint murmurs to the scanty breeze,
I walk the village round ; if at her side
A youth doth walk in stolen joy and pride,
I curse my stars in bitter grief and woe,
That made my love so high, and me so low.
Oh should she e'er prove false, his limbs I'd tear
And throw all pity on the burning air !
I'd curse bright fortune for my mixèd lot.
And then I'd die in peace, and be forgot.
E
