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 13 Fain would I dry my tearful eye, And still the sigh that heaves my breast, But ah! I fear, some danger near, To rob my bosom of its rest. But wherefore fear some danger near, Thy truth is all that love can give, Then welcome all that can befal, For thee I'd die, for thee I'll live.

The Welsh Harper. Over the sunny hills I stray, Tuning many a rustic lay, And sometimes in the shadowy vales, I sing of love and battle tales ; Merrily thus I spend my life, Tho' poor, my breast is free from strife; The blythe old Harper call'd am I, In the Welch vales, 'mid mountains high. In the Welch vales 'mid mountains high. Sometimes before a castle gate, In song a battle I relate ; Or how a lord, in shepherd's guise; Sought favour in a virgin's eyes