Page:Poetical sketches reprint (1868).djvu/45

Rh

HEN early morn walks forth in sober gray, Then to my black-eyed maid I haste away, When evening sits beneath her dusky bower And gently sighs away the silent hour, The village bell alarms, away I go, And the vale darkens at my pensive woe.

To that sweet village, where my black-eyed maid Doth drop a tear beneath the silent shade, I turn my eyes; and pensive as I go Curse my black stars, and bless my pleasing woe.

Oft when the summer sleeps among the trees, Whispering faint murmurs to the scanty breeze, I walk the village round; if at her side A youth doth walk in stolen joy and pride, I curse my stars in bitter grief and woe, That made my love so high, and me so low.

O should she e'er prove false, his limbs I'd tear, And throw all pity on the burning air; I'd curse bright fortune for my mixed lot, And then I'd die in peace, and be forgot.