The Polly privateer/Colin and Lucy

COLIN AND LUCY.

HARK! hark! 'tis a voice from the tomb!
⁠“come, Lucy! (it cries) come away:

The grave of thy Colin has room
⁠to rest thee beside his cold clay.”
“ I come my dear shepherd, I come:
⁠ye friends and companions, adieu!
I haste to my Colin's dark home,
⁠to die on his bosom so true.”

All mournful the midnight bell rung,
⁠when Lucy, sad Lucy! arose,
And forth to the green turf she sprung,
⁠where Colin's pale ashes repose.
All wet with the night's chilling dew,
⁠her bosom embrac'd the cold ground,
While stormy winds over her blew,
⁠and night-ravens croak'd all around.

“ How long, my dear shepherd! she cry'd
⁠how long must thy Lucy complain?
How long shall the grave my love hide?
⁠how long e'er it join us again?
For thee has thy shepherdess liv’d,
⁠with thee o'er the world would she fly;
For thee has she sorrow'd and griev'd,
⁠for thee would she lie down and die.

Alas! what avails it, how dear
⁠his Lucy was once to her swain,
Her face like the lily so fair,
⁠her eyes that gave light to the plain?
Since now the dear shepherd is gone,
⁠that face and those eyes charm no more,
And Lucy, forgot and alone,
⁠to death must her Colin deplore.

As thus she lay sunk in despair,
⁠and mourn'd to the echoes around,
Inflam'd all at once grew the air,
⁠and thunders shook dreadful the ground.
“ I hear the kind call, and obey;
⁠receive me, dear Colin!" she cry'd,
Then breathing a sigh o'er his clay,
⁠she hung on his tombstone, and dy'd.