SONG.
By Zaide, in answer to the Captive's Song, which she overheard
from the Garden below the Tower.
1
Whitening with bloom the bank beneath,
That silver almond seems in sighs
To whisper, as the Zephyrs breathe,
How fast its fleeting blossom dies!
2
The plaintive bird from yonder spray
Bends o'er the rose's blushing leaf:
And gentle Pity fain would say,
She chaunts some tale of widowed grief.
3
But 'tis not love inspires the tones
That melt amidst the warbling shade,
Or to the breath of Zephyr moans
Where fast the silver almonds fade.
4
Yet, in the turret-glooms above,
From some complaining Captive part
Sighs—that, alas! but serve to prove
Their source is sorrow of the heart.
