 | Songs and Lyrics |  |
118
On Bardon Hill.
Oh! I think, think still, how, on Bardon Hill,
He stood beneath a golden cloud;
And bold as a hawk, with his head thrown back,
A merry tune whistled aloud.
He stood beneath a golden cloud;
And bold as a hawk, with his head thrown back,
A merry tune whistled aloud.
That hour on the height, in his blink so bright,
Lo! I marked not the sun go down;
But felt to my cost that my heart was lost,
And my peace with my heart had flown.
Lo! I marked not the sun go down;
But felt to my cost that my heart was lost,
And my peace with my heart had flown.
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