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NE morning very early, one morning in the spring,

I heard a maid in Bedlam who mournfully did fing, Her chains fherattled on her hands while sweetly thus fung fhe, I love my love, because I know my love loves me.

Oh cruel were his parents who fent my love to sea,
And cruel cruel was the ship that bore my love from me,
Yet I love his parents since they're his,altho'they'veruin'd me,
And I love my love, because I know my love loves me.

O should it please the pitying pow'rs to call me to the sky, I'd claim a guardian angel's charge around my love to fly; To guard him from all dangers how happy should I be For I love my love, because I know my

love loves me.

I'll make a strawy garland, I'll make it wondrous fine,
With roses, lilies, daisies, I'll mix the eglantine;
And I'll present it to my love when he returns from fea,
For I love my love, because I know my love loves me.

Oh if I were a little bird to build upon his breaft,
Or if I were a nightingale to sing my love to rest!
To gaze upon
his lovely eyes


reward should be ; For I love my love, because I know my love loves me.

Oh if I were an eagle, to soar into the sky!
I'd gaze around with piercing eyes where I my love might spy;
But ah! unhappy maiden, that love you ne'er shall fee,
Yet I love my love, because I know my love loves me.


THE henvenderna tilouds were lined with gold,


HE sun was sunk beneath the hill,

The western clouds were lined with
Clear the sky, the wind was still,

The flocks were penn'd within the fold;



When in the silence of the grove
Poor Damon thus despair’d of love.

Who seeks to pluck the fragrant rose

From the hard rock or oozy beach, Who from each weed that barren grows,

Expects the grape or downy peach, With equal faith may hope to find The truth of love in womankind.

Nó herds have I, no fleecy care,

No fields that wave with golden grain, No paitures green, or gardens fair,

A woman's venal heart to gain ; Then all in vain my fighs muit prove Whose whole estate, alas! is love,

How wretched is the faithful youth

Since womens hearts are bought and sold : They aík no vows of facred truth,

Whene’er they figh, they figh for gold. Gold can the frowns of scorn remove ? But I am scorn'd-who have but love.


To buy the gems of India's coast

What wealth, what riches would suffice :
Yet India's fhore should never boaft

The luftre of thy rival eyes;
For there the world too cheap must prove;
Can I then buy ?-who have but love.

Then, MARY, fince nor gems nor ore

Can with thy brighter self compare, Be just, as fair, and value more

Than gems or ore, a heart fincere : Let treasure meaner beauties move ; Who pays thy worth, must pay in love.

WHAT feet are her fimiles upon Tweed?

HAT beauties does Flora disclose ?


Tweed But Mary's still sweeter than those

Both nature and fancy exceed. No daisy nor sweet blushing rose

Nor all the gay flowers of the field, Nor Tweed gliding gently thro' those Such beauty and pleasure can yield.


The warblers are heard in each grove,

The linnet, the lark and the thrush; The blackbird and sweet cooing dove With music enchant every

bush. Come let us go forth to the mead,

Let us see how the primroses spring ; We'll lodge in some village on Tweed,

And love while the feather’d folks fing.

How does my love pass the long day?

Does Mary not tend a few sheep? Do they never carelessly stray,

While happily she lies asleep? Tweed's murmurs should lull her to rest,

Kind nature indulging my bliss, To relieve the soft pains of my breast

I'd steal an ambrosial kiss.

'Tis she does the virgins excel,

No beauty with her can compare, Love's graces all round her do dwell,

She's fairest where thousands are fair. Say charmer where do thy flocks stray ?

Oh! tell me at noon where they feed : Shall I seek them on sweet winding Tay,

Or the pleasanter banks of the Tweed,

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