 | The poetical works of Henry Kirke White |  |
203
A BALLAD.
Be hushed, be hushed, ye bitter winds,
Ye pelting rains, a little rest;
Lie still, lie still, ye busy thoughts,
That wring with grief my aching breast.
Ye pelting rains, a little rest;
Lie still, lie still, ye busy thoughts,
That wring with grief my aching breast.
Oh! cruel was my faithless love,
To triumph o'er an artless maid;
Oh! cruel was my faithless love,
To leave the breast by him betrayed.
To triumph o'er an artless maid;
Oh! cruel was my faithless love,
To leave the breast by him betrayed.
When exiled from my native home,
He should have wiped the bitter tear;
Nor left me faint and lone to roam,
A heart-sick weary wanderer here.
He should have wiped the bitter tear;
Nor left me faint and lone to roam,
A heart-sick weary wanderer here.
My child moans sadly in my arms,
The winds they will not let it sleep:
Ah, little knows the hapless babe
What makes its wretched mother weep!
The winds they will not let it sleep:
Ah, little knows the hapless babe
What makes its wretched mother weep!
Now lie thee still, my infant dear,
I cannot bear thy sobs to see,
Harsh is thy father, little one,
And never will he shelter thee.
I cannot bear thy sobs to see,
Harsh is thy father, little one,
And never will he shelter thee.
Oh, that I were but in my grave,
And winds were piping o'er me loud,
And thou, my poor, my orphan babe,
Wert nestling in thy mother's shroud!
And winds were piping o'er me loud,
And thou, my poor, my orphan babe,
Wert nestling in thy mother's shroud!
| The poetical works of Henry Kirke White | |