Page:Ayrshire melodist, or, The muses' delight.pdf/16



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But parted by severe decree, Far different must our fortunes prove, May thine be joy, enough for me                          To weep and pray for him I love.

The pangs this foolish Heart must feel, When hope shall be for ever flown, No sullen murmur shall reveal, No selfish murmurs ever own. Nor will I through life's weary years, Like a pale drooping mourner move, While I can think my secret tears May wound the heart of him I love.

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The Maniac's Song

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HARK! 'tis the poor maniac's song: She sits on yon wild craggy steep, And while the winds mournfully whistles along, She wistfully looks o'er the deep. And aye she sings, "Lullaby, lullaby, lul-                             laby!" To hush the rude billows asleep.