The Bewildered Maid.
SLOW broke the light and sweet breath'd the morn,
When a maiden I saw sitting under a thorn,
Her dark hair hung loose on her bosom of snow,
Her eyes look'd bewilder'd, her cheeks pale with woe.
Ah! whence is thy sorrow, fair maiden? said I.
The green grave will answer, she said, with a sigh.
The merry lark so sweetly did sing o'er her head,
As she thought on her grief, and the battle, she said.
The breeze murmur'd by, when she look'd up forlorn,
Hark! Hark! didst thou hear, 'twas the sigh of the morn;
They say, that in battle my love met his death,
But ah 'twas this hawthorn that robb'd his sweet breath.
Come here, faithful Robin, live safe from the storm;
In my bosom now sing, there my true love lies warm.
Ah! Robin, be constant, my true love was brave,
Sweet Robin shall fit and sing over my grave.