 | The Poetical Works of Robert Story |  |
5
Bright was the Eye.
1819.
Bright was the eye that beamed on me,
My bosom coldly thrilling;
Like moonshine on a winter sea,
'Twas beautiful, but chilling!
And never did so sweet a tongue
So harsh a sentence carry;
My hopes are crushed, my heart is wrung,
By Roddam's lovely Mary!
My bosom coldly thrilling;
Like moonshine on a winter sea,
'Twas beautiful, but chilling!
And never did so sweet a tongue
So harsh a sentence carry;
My hopes are crushed, my heart is wrung,
By Roddam's lovely Mary!
In vain I prized her charms beyond
Proud Valour's richest capture;
In vain my fancy, young and fond,
Had dreams of nought but rapture;
In vain, in truth of heart, I swore
Its pulse no more should vary;
My truth is scorned, my heart is sore
For Roddam's lovely Mary!
Proud Valour's richest capture;
In vain my fancy, young and fond,
Had dreams of nought but rapture;
In vain, in truth of heart, I swore
Its pulse no more should vary;
My truth is scorned, my heart is sore
For Roddam's lovely Mary!
Ye mountains, rich with purple heath,
That heard my earliest numbers;
Ye briery glens, that fragrance breathe,
Whose music seldom slumbers;
Less torn my bosom now will be
To leave your charms so fairy,
Since feelingless and cold to me
Is Roddam's lovely Mary!
That heard my earliest numbers;
Ye briery glens, that fragrance breathe,
Whose music seldom slumbers;
Less torn my bosom now will be
To leave your charms so fairy,
Since feelingless and cold to me
Is Roddam's lovely Mary!
| The Poetical Works of Robert Story | |