This page has been validated.
15
And its heath-clad breast’s appearing,
Ting’d with Phœbus’ golden ray:
Far down the glen the blackbird’s chearing
Morning with his lay.
Ting’d with Phœbus’ golden ray:
Far down the glen the blackbird’s chearing
Morning with his lay.
Come, come let us be straying,
Where the hazel boughs are playing,
O’er yon summit grey:
Mild, mild the breeze is blowing,
And the crystal streamlet's flowing
Gently on its way.
On its banks the wild rose springing,
Blushing in the sunny ray:
Wet with dew its head is hanging,
Bending low the prickly spray:
Then haste, my love, while birds are singing
To the new-born day.
Where the hazel boughs are playing,
O’er yon summit grey:
Mild, mild the breeze is blowing,
And the crystal streamlet's flowing
Gently on its way.
On its banks the wild rose springing,
Blushing in the sunny ray:
Wet with dew its head is hanging,
Bending low the prickly spray:
Then haste, my love, while birds are singing
To the new-born day.
Wandering Mary.
Bleak blows the storm upon that breast,
Whose guest is life-consuming sorrow;
Oh! take me to some place of rest,
Where I may slumber ’till to-morrow.
You view my face, it once was fair,
At least so said my charming Harry;
But he is gone, and black despair
Is all that’s left to Wand'ring Mary.
Is all that’s left, &c.
Whose guest is life-consuming sorrow;
Oh! take me to some place of rest,
Where I may slumber ’till to-morrow.
You view my face, it once was fair,
At least so said my charming Harry;
But he is gone, and black despair
Is all that’s left to Wand'ring Mary.
Is all that’s left, &c.
