Indian melodies :: :: University of Virginia Library

Why heaves my breast with troubled sighs,
Foreboding ills which may not rise?
Dark clouds may rise, but sink again,
And a much brighter sky remain.
Oh aid, ye spirits—ye clouds, depart!
Or Zhayba, give me back my heart.

Long had my sky been clear and blue,
As in my dreams I used to view.
Lightsome I rose with heart as free,
As they that flit from tree to tree.
Like you, sweet warblers, I could sing
When newly pair'd in early spring.
Oh aid, ye spirits—ye clouds, depart,
Or Zhayba, give me back my heart.

My path was deck'd with flowers sweet,
Refresh'd with dew to bear the heat—
The heat of yonder glorious ball,
That lights and warms and gladdens all.
Oh aid, ye spirits—ye clouds, depart,
Or Zhayba, give me back my heart.

Alas, my sunny days are past,
My sky is black and overcast,
My path is chok'd with thorns and reeds,
My pleasant flow'rs transform'd to weeds,

I'm cross'd by wile, or Moneto,
And all my dreams are dreams of woe.
Oh aid, ye spirits—ye clouds, depart,
Or Zhayba, give me back my heart.

No longer can my heart respond
To notes, of which 'twas once so fond,
No more its throbs a pleasure bring,
A joy I knew, but cannot sing.
Nor can I rove with step so light
Among the flow'rets with delight;
For love, alas, has chang'd the scene,
I only know such joys have been.
Oh aid, ye spirits—ye clouds, depart,
Or Zhayba, give me back my heart.

I seek the lone, sequestered spot,
The silver shore—the shady grot,
But ah, how vain my footsteps rove,
How vain to find a cure for love.
Oh aid, ye spirits ... ye clouds, depart,
Or Zhayba, give me back my heart.

These lines were sketched by a Lady, and retouched, with additional lines, by the author of this little collection.