Page:Cheskian Anthology.pdf/133

 of melancholy mourn,

Light for me thy midnight urn;

If some wield-sorrow swept

By thee—often hast thou wept,

Mournful starlet ! weep with me!

my maiden to repair

With other maids to morning-prayer

And as I pass'd, the cuckow spoke,

From the green oak:

Coo-coo—coo-coo!

"O thou my golden, golden dove!"

Coo-coo—coo-coo!

"Stretch out thy hand, my love."

! look round thee,

Round thee and see,

All the youths struggling,

Struggling for me.