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LYRICAL POEMS.
89
CONSOLATION.
IF again thou mourning weepest,
Wounded heart of mine,
That a maiden’s soul disowneth
Worth and merits thine,
Thee I’ll comfort, as a father
Comforteth his child,
When th’ enchanting flow’ret’s ravish’d
By the tempest wild.
Chides the father—‘Weep no longer,
Other flowers be thine,
For a single flower, my dearest,
Doth the sun not shine.
In the groves and meadows thousands
Find we day by day,
Only wait, dear child, a little
For approaching May.’
But, my heart, in thy recesses
Deep the knowledge lies,
That I scarce thy grief can comfort,
As a child that cries.
Weep then on, true heart and sorrow,
Weep, ye eyes, in woe;
Tears for love—my blood must only
For my country flow!
