Page:Belfast maid's lamentation for the loss of her sweetheart.pdf/2

 

ome all you pretty maids, take warning by me,

And let not love affect you in any degree,

For I was croſs'd in love, and love it was my pain,

By a handſome youth that has croſs'd o'er the main.

O that I was a little bird, or had I wings to fly,

I'd to the field of battle go and on him I would lie,

With my flutt'ring wings his bleeding wounds I'd clean,

And on his lovely boſom I'd ever remain.

But now my love's gone, I'll wander and roam,

Thro each loneſome valley making my moan,

The ſmall birds of the buſhes will join and pity me,

Since I have loſt my jewel and him I'll never ſee.

Ye maidens take pity on a poor wretched maid,

Who's with grief afflicted, by Cupid's dart betray'd;

Ye gods of love aſſiſt me my burning love to quench,

I'm wounded by a young man that's gone to fight the French.

His lips are like the coral, his cheeks like the roſe,

His ſkin is like the lilly, his eyes are black as floes,

He's proper, tall and handſome in every degree,

He has croſs'd the wide ocean to face his enemy.

If to the field of battle my darling he goes,

Guardian angels protect him from his daring foes,

May he be crown'd with laurels the boy that I adore,

And may I live to ſee him in Belfaſt town once more.

If by the cruel French my darling ſhould be ſlain,

Then for ever ſingle for his fake I will remain,

To no mortal man breathing will I give my hand,

Until I fee my jewel in his own native land.