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· III,

I remember, I remember

Where I was used to swing,
And thought the air must rush as fresh
To swallows on the wing;
My spirit flew in feathers then,
That is so heavy now,
And summer pools could hardly cool
The fever on my brow !


I remember, I remember
The fir trees dark and high ;
I used to think their slender tops
Were close against the sky:
It was a childish ignorance,
But now 'tis little joy
To know I'm farther off from heav'n

Than when I was a boy.


Sigh on sad heart, for Love's eclipse,

And Beauty's fairest queen, Tho' 'tis not for my peasant lips

To soil her name between :

A king might lay his sceptre down,

But I am poor and nought, The brow should wear a golden crown

That wears her in its thought.

The diamonds glancing in her hair,

Whose sudden beams surprise, Might bid such humble hopes beware

The glancing of her eyes ;
Yet looking once, I look’d too long,

And if my love is sin,
Death follows on the heels of wrong,

And kills the crime within.

Her dress seem'd wove of lily leaves,

It was so pure and fine,
O lofty wears, and lowly weaves,

But hoddan grey is mine;
And homely hose must step apart,

Where garter'd princes stand,
he wear my

love at heart That wins her lily ha d!

Alas! there's far from russet frize

To silks and satin gowns, But I doubt if God made like degrees,

In courtly hearts and clowns. My father wrong'd a maiden's mirth,

And brought her cheeks to blame, And all that's lordly of my birth,

Is my reproach and shame!

'Tis vain to weep, –

’tis vain to sigh, 'Tis vain this idle speech, For where her happy pearls do lie,

My tears may never reach;

Yet when I'm gone, e'en lofty pride

May say of what has been,
His love was nobly born and died,

Tho' all the rest was mean !

My speech is rude, – but speech is weak

Such love as mine to tell,
Yet had I words, I dare not speak,

So, Lady, fare thee well;
I will not wish thy better state

Was one of low degree,
But I must weep that partial fate

Made such a churl of me.



ALAS, the moon should ever beam

To show what man should never see !

I saw a maiden on a stream,

And fair was she !

I staid awhile, to see her throw
Her tresses back, that all beset

The fair horizon of her brow

With clouds of jet.

I staid a little while to view

Her cheek, that wore in place of red The bloom of water, tender blue, Daintily spread.

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