Page:Songs of a Savoyard.djvu/84



IGHING softly to the river Comes the loving breeze, Setting nature all a-quiver,
 * Rustling through the trees!

And the brook in rippling measure,
 * Laughs for very love,

While the poplars, in their pleasure,
 * Wave their arms above!
 * River, river, little river,
 * May thy loving prosper ever.
 * Heaven speed thee, poplar tree,
 * May thy wooing happy be!

Yet, the breeze is but a rover.
 * When he wings away,

Brook and poplar mourn a lover!
 * Sighing well-a-day!