Poems, Fables, and Plays By Edward Moore |
 |
|
|
 |
| I. |
| II. |
| III. |
| IV. |
| V. |
| VI. |
| VII. |
| VIII. |
| IX. |
| X. |
| XI. | SONG the Eleventh. |
|
 | Poems, Fables, and Plays |  |
197
SONG the Eleventh.
I
Hark! hark! 'tis a voice from the tomb!Come, Lucy, it cries, come away;
The grave of thy Collin has room,
To rest thee beside his cold clay.
I come, my dear shepherd, I come;
Ye friends and companions, adieu;
I haste to my Collin's dark home,
To die on his bosom so true.
II
All mournful the midnight bell rung,When Lucy, sad Lucy arose;
And forth to the green-turf she sprung,
Where Collin's pale ashes repose.
All wet with the night's chilling dew,
Her bosom embrac'd the cold ground,
While stormy winds over her blew,
And night-ravens croak'd all around.
198
III
How long, my lov'd Collin, she cry'd,How long must thy Lucy complain?
How long shall the grave my love hide?
How long ere it join us again?
For thee thy fond shepherdess liv'd,
With thee o'er the world would she fly,
For thee has she sorrow'd and griev'd,
For thee would she lie down and die.
IV
Alas! what avails it how dearThy Lucy was once to her swain!
Her face like the lily so fair,
And eyes that gave light to the plain!
The shepherd that lov'd her is gone,
That face and those eyes charm no more,
And Lucy forgot and alone,
To death shall her Collin deplore.
V
While thus she lay sunk in despair,And mourn'd to the echoes around,
Inflam'd all at once grew the air,
And thunder shook dreadful the ground.
199
Oh, Collin, receive me, she cry'd!
Then breathing a groan o'er his clay,
She hung on his tomb-stone and dy'd.
| Poems, Fables, and Plays | |