Page:Mavis.pdf/19

Rh

As down on Banna’s banks I ſtray’d,

one evening in May,

The little birds, in blithſome notes,

made vocal ev’ry ſpray;

They ſung their little tales of love,

they ſung them o’er and o’er:

Ah! gramachree, my cholleenouge,

ma Molly aſhtere.

The daily py’d, and all the ſweets

the dawn of nature yields;

The primroſe pale, and violet blue,

lay ſcattered o’er the fields:

Such fragrance in the boſom lies

of her whom I adore,

Ah! gramachree, &c.

I laid me down upon a bank,

bewailing my ſad fate,

That doom’d me thus the ſlave of love

and cruel Molly’s hate;

How can ſhe break the honeſt heart

that in its core?

Ah! gramachree, &c.