 | Songs and Poems from 1819 to 1879 |  |
67
FROM THE PORTUGUESE OF CACCEORUS.
In the silence of that hour
She hath made so dear to me,
With the breeze that seeks her bower,
Sigh of love, I mingle thee.
Should thy trembling wing betray thee,
Should she ask thee what thou art,
Say a sigh; but ah! I pray thee,
Tell her not from whose poor heart.
She hath made so dear to me,
With the breeze that seeks her bower,
Sigh of love, I mingle thee.
Should thy trembling wing betray thee,
Should she ask thee what thou art,
Say a sigh; but ah! I pray thee,
Tell her not from whose poor heart.
O'er the silver brooklet bending,
Which I saw her first beside;
With its stream my tears are blending,
At her feet perchance to glide.
Gentle water, should she stay thee,
And demand what swells thee so,
Tell her, tears; but ah! I pray thee,
Say not from whose eyes they flow.
Which I saw her first beside;
With its stream my tears are blending,
At her feet perchance to glide.
Gentle water, should she stay thee,
And demand what swells thee so,
Tell her, tears; but ah! I pray thee,
Say not from whose eyes they flow.
| Songs and Poems from 1819 to 1879 | |