 | Areytos or songs and ballads of the South |  |
136
AH, ME! THE SAD MISDOING.
I.
Ah, me! the sad misdoing,The watching, weeping, wooing,
The sueing and pursuing,
So fruitless as with pain;
Ever doubting, ever dreaming,
Yet beguiled at every gleaming,
With some newer scheme still scheming,
And with every scheme in vain.
II.
'Neath ancient oak tree lying,Still languishing and sighing,
Drooping ever as with dying,
Yet with keenest sense of life;
Oh! for the storm, the clangor,
The battle—war's wild anger,
Aught but this wretched languor,
Where Slumber's self is strife.
III.
Sing me the storm—the battle—The tempest's shriek—the rattle
Of cannon, when, like cattle,
Men headlong march to Fate!
Rouse me, these griefs assuaging,
To Passion's wildest raging,
Till, as with foe engaging,
I rush from Love to Hate!
| Areytos or songs and ballads of the South | |