| |
| THE LINNET in the rocky dells, | |
| The moor-lark in the air, | |
| The bee among the heather bells | |
| That hide my lady fair: | |
| |
| The wild deer browse above her breast; | 5 |
| The wild birds raise their brood; | |
| And they, her smiles of love caress’d, | |
| Have left her solitude! | |
| |
| I ween that when the grave’s dark wall | |
| Did first her form retain, | 10 |
| They thought their hearts could ne’er recall | |
| The light of joy again. | |
| |
| They thought the tide of grief would flow | |
| Uncheck’d through future years; | |
| But where is all their anguish now? | 15 |
| And where are all their tears? | |
| |
| Well, let them fight for honour’s breath, | |
| Or pleasure’s shade pursue— | |
| The dweller in the land of death | |
| Is changed and careless too. | 20 |
| |
| And if their eyes should watch and weep | |
| Till sorrow’s source were dry, | |
| She would not, in her tranquil sleep, | |
| Return a single sigh! | |
| |
| Blow, west wind, by the lonely mound: | 25 |
| And murmur, summer streams! | |
| There is no need of other sound | |
| To soothe my lady’s dreams. | |
| |
