 | Songs and ballads by Samuel Lover |  |
'TIS TIME TO FLY.
Beware the chain love's wreathing
When some sweet voice you hear,
Whose gentlest, simplest breathing
Is music to thine ear;
And when in glances fleeting,
Some deep and speaking eye
With thine is often meeting—
Oh! then—'tis time to fly!
When some sweet voice you hear,
Whose gentlest, simplest breathing
Is music to thine ear;
And when in glances fleeting,
Some deep and speaking eye
With thine is often meeting—
Oh! then—'tis time to fly!
If there be form of lightness
To which thine eyes oft stray,
Or neck of snowy whiteness—
Remember'd—when away,
These symptoms love resemble—
And when some hand is nigh,
Whose touch doth make thee tremble—
Oh! then—'tis time to fly!
To which thine eyes oft stray,
Or neck of snowy whiteness—
Remember'd—when away,
These symptoms love resemble—
And when some hand is nigh,
Whose touch doth make thee tremble—
Oh! then—'tis time to fly!
59
But if that voice of sweetness,
Like echo, still return;
And if that eye of brightness
With fascination burn;
To 'scape thou art not able,
No effort vainly try,
For, like the bird in fable,
Alas! thou can'st not fly.
Like echo, still return;
And if that eye of brightness
With fascination burn;
To 'scape thou art not able,
No effort vainly try,
For, like the bird in fable,
Alas! thou can'st not fly.
| Songs and ballads by Samuel Lover | |