The shepherd rais'd his mournful head, While I the cruel truth reveal ? Which nothing from my breast should tear, 'Tis thus I rove, 'tis thus complain, Too much, Alexis, have I heard, THE MAD MAIDEN. ONE I love my love, because I know my love loves me. Oh cruel were his parents who sent my love to sea, And cruel cruel was the ship that bore my love from me, ~ [ruin'd me, Yet I love his parents since they're his, altho' they've 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, [to fly; I'd claim a guardian angel's charge around my love 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 sea, For I love my love, because I know my love loves me. Oh if I were a little bird to build upon his breast, Or if I were a nightingale to sing my love to rest! To gaze upon his lovely eyes all my 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 see, Yet I love my love, because I know my love loves me. THE sun was sunk beneath the hill The western clouds were lined with gold, Who seeks to pluck the fragrant rose No herds have I, no fleecy care, No fields that wave with golden grain, No pastures green, or gardens fair, A woman's venal heart to gain ; Then all in vain my sighs must prove, Whose whole estate, alas! is love. How wretched is the faithful youth, Whene'er they sigh, they sigh for gold. To buy the gems of India's coast What wealth, what riches would suffice? For there the world too cheap must prove; Then, Mary, since nor gems nor ore Than gems or ore, a heart sincere ; WHAT Deauties does Flora disclose? Nor all the gay flowers of the field, The warblers are heard in each grove, Let us see how the primroses spring; We'll lodge in some village on Tweed, And love while the feather'd folks sing. How does my love pass the long day? While happily she lies asleep? Tweed's murmurs should lull her to rest, |