EXTRACTS FROM MY POCKET BOOK.
115
Literary Gazette 4th October 1823, Page 635
Air,— Here’s health to ane I loo dear.
Farewell to my first dream of love,
The bark of hope is wrecked:
Twas hard in its first upswinging
The young bird's flight should be checked,
But, Allan, thou art faithless to me,
But, Allan, thou art faithless to me;
The peace of that heart for ever is lost
That dares confide in thee, Allan,
Thy love's the false ore that glistens
In the deceiving mine,—
The treasures we find are but dross
When the search is in hearts like thine, Allan.
I’ll trust the winds in their anger,
I'll trust the dark rolling sea,—
And hope for repose and shelter,
Ere I’ll put faith In thee, Allan.
