Page:Cheskian Anthology.pdf/136



, my lovely star! O say,

Art thou gloomy—art thou gay?

Art thou gloomy—O be bright—

Pour on me thy streams of light!

Pour thy streams of light on me,

And awaken memory.

on a beechen tree, perceiv'd an acorn grow—

Did ever youth desert a maid to wed a widow? No!

O look upon that maiden's cheeks so rosy, fresh, and fair,

And see the widow dragging on, in solitary care.