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131
LOVERS' WALKS.
Ah! once I liked not lovers' walks,
Nor wanderings by the hill,
When star to star at midnight talks,
And all the world is still:
I laugh'd at all romantic souls,
That half in rapture stood;
I hated strolls—those moonlight strolls—
And always thought I should!
Nor wanderings by the hill,
When star to star at midnight talks,
And all the world is still:
I laugh'd at all romantic souls,
That half in rapture stood;
I hated strolls—those moonlight strolls—
And always thought I should!
I vow'd by all the world e'er knew
Of beautiful or bright,
No love on earth should tempt me to
A rambling walk by night;
But, ah! one's mind can little guess
To what one's heart is born!
Who'd thought a month, or even less,
Had found me so forsworn?
Of beautiful or bright,
No love on earth should tempt me to
A rambling walk by night;
But, ah! one's mind can little guess
To what one's heart is born!
Who'd thought a month, or even less,
Had found me so forsworn?
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But when I loved nor star, nor moon,
Nor wanderings through the glen,
My song of life was out of tune,
I knew not Mary then:
Now, I would rather roam till light
Bloom'd o'er the Morn's sweet breast,
Than ever breathe those words, “Good Night!”
Or ever think of rest.
Nor wanderings through the glen,
My song of life was out of tune,
I knew not Mary then:
Now, I would rather roam till light
Bloom'd o'er the Morn's sweet breast,
Than ever breathe those words, “Good Night!”
Or ever think of rest.
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