 | The forest minstrel |  |
162
TO ANNA ---.
Shall that light heart, that bounds to joy,
Be ever sad and dreary?
And can that brilliant, laughing eye,
Be downcast, wet, and weary?
Oh, can the hopes that swell thy breast,
Be wholly wrecked and broken?
And shalt thou seek in vain for rest,
Where words of peace are spoken?
Be ever sad and dreary?
And can that brilliant, laughing eye,
Be downcast, wet, and weary?
Oh, can the hopes that swell thy breast,
Be wholly wrecked and broken?
And shalt thou seek in vain for rest,
Where words of peace are spoken?
Ah! shall thy brilliant beauty be
Like some poor broken flower,
That droops its fair head piteously
Beneath the driving shower?
Alas! that such should be thy doom,
And none to sorrow o'er thee!
Yet many a bright and fragrant bloom
Has died unwept before thee.
Like some poor broken flower,
That droops its fair head piteously
Beneath the driving shower?
Alas! that such should be thy doom,
And none to sorrow o'er thee!
Yet many a bright and fragrant bloom
Has died unwept before thee.
Oh, who would rob us of the faith
That smooths the path of sorrow,
And cheers the night of pain or death
With promise of to-morrow?
Oh, wring my soul, or wreck my peace,
Or make me broken-hearted;
But leave untouched my hopes of bliss,
When life's frail strings are parted.
That smooths the path of sorrow,
And cheers the night of pain or death
With promise of to-morrow?
Oh, wring my soul, or wreck my peace,
Or make me broken-hearted;
But leave untouched my hopes of bliss,
When life's frail strings are parted.
| The forest minstrel | |