 | The Poetical Works of Robert Anderson |  |
LUCY GRAY, OF ALLENDALE.
Say, have you seen the blushing rose,
The blooming pink, or lily pale?
Fairer than any flow'r that blows,
Was Lucy Gray, of Allendale.
The blooming pink, or lily pale?
Fairer than any flow'r that blows,
Was Lucy Gray, of Allendale.
Pensive at eve, down by the burn,
Where oft the maid they us'd to hail,
The shepherds now are heard to mourn,
For Lucy Gray, of Allendale.
Where oft the maid they us'd to hail,
The shepherds now are heard to mourn,
For Lucy Gray, of Allendale.
With her to join the sportive dance,
Far have I stray'd o'er hill and vale,
Then pleas'd, each rustic stole a glance
At Lucy Gray, of Allendale.
Far have I stray'd o'er hill and vale,
Then pleas'd, each rustic stole a glance
At Lucy Gray, of Allendale.
I sighing view yon hawthorn shade,
Where first I told a loves's tale;
For now low lies the matchless maid,
Sweet Lucy Gray, of Allendale.
Where first I told a loves's tale;
For now low lies the matchless maid,
Sweet Lucy Gray, of Allendale.
178
I cannot toil, and seldom sleep;
My parents wonder what I ail:
While others rest, I wake and weep,
For Lucy Gray, of Allendale.
My parents wonder what I ail:
While others rest, I wake and weep,
For Lucy Gray, of Allendale.
A load of grief preys on my breast,
In cottage, or in darken'd vale;—
Come, welcome death! O, let me rest
Near Lucy Gray, of Allendale!
In cottage, or in darken'd vale;—
Come, welcome death! O, let me rest
Near Lucy Gray, of Allendale!
| The Poetical Works of Robert Anderson | |