ART THOU THEN FORSAKEN.
[_]
(Altered from a Chant by Mr. Manners.)
I
Art thou then forsaken,
Do thy fond hopes fall from thee;—
Like sweet blossoms shaken
By the tempest from the tree?
Does a frown repel thee
From the eyes that smil'd before,
Does the false one tell thee
Thou art dear to him no more?
II
Though the change may wound thee,
Shew it not in look or tone;—
Smile—when smiles surround thee,
Tears may flow when thou'rt alone!
Oh! like yon sweet flowers,
Meet the sunshine of the world—
Though in darker hours,
Ev'ry dewy leaf is furled.
