Legal & Other Lyrics By George Outram: Containing a number of new pieces & fifteen illustrations by Edward J. Sullivan |
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A LINNET WARBLED |
 | Legal & Other Lyrics |  |
162
A LINNET WARBLED
Alinnet warbled in the shade
Upon a summer's morn;
Blythe rang her carol through the glade—
I laugh'd at her in scorn;
She thought she would be happy long,
And cheerfully chirp'd out her song.
Upon a summer's morn;
Blythe rang her carol through the glade—
I laugh'd at her in scorn;
She thought she would be happy long,
And cheerfully chirp'd out her song.
Upon that summer's eve,
The linnet sate—silent—alone;
The hour was past that heaven gave,
The day of bliss was done;
She sate upon a waving bough,
The miniature of human woe.
The linnet sate—silent—alone;
The hour was past that heaven gave,
The day of bliss was done;
She sate upon a waving bough,
The miniature of human woe.
Her mate was dead—murder'd, to prove
The skill that hits a mark so small;
The linnet look'd upon her love,
And saw him fall.
Her melody was o'er—
She whistled now no more.
The skill that hits a mark so small;
The linnet look'd upon her love,
And saw him fall.
Her melody was o'er—
She whistled now no more.
She felt she was alone,
Friendless among a thousand foes;
In the wide world there was not one
To sorrow for her woes;
Her little heart was swell'd with grief,
She knew that there was no relief.
Friendless among a thousand foes;
In the wide world there was not one
To sorrow for her woes;
Her little heart was swell'd with grief,
She knew that there was no relief.
163
Art thou, poor bird! forlorn as I?
Hast learn'd so soon all I have known—
That joy is but a summer fly,
Scarce seen e'er it has flown?
Thou'st learn'd the truth while young—
Thou wast not cheated long.
Hast learn'd so soon all I have known—
That joy is but a summer fly,
Scarce seen e'er it has flown?
Thou'st learn'd the truth while young—
Thou wast not cheated long.
But not without a hope
Thy wreck of life remains to thee;
The fowler's aim, the falcon's swoop,
Alike may set thee free—
May bid thy sorrows cease,
And let thee be at peace.
Thy wreck of life remains to thee;
The fowler's aim, the falcon's swoop,
Alike may set thee free—
May bid thy sorrows cease,
And let thee be at peace.
Nor at thy lot repine—
“The young, the beautiful, the brave,”
Have sunk 'neath sorrows such as thine,
And sought an early grave,
Where the broken heart is blest,
And the weary are at rest!
“The young, the beautiful, the brave,”
Have sunk 'neath sorrows such as thine,
And sought an early grave,
Where the broken heart is blest,
And the weary are at rest!
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