THE DISCONSOLATE DAMSEL.
SONG XL.
1
“Descend sweet dove with snowy wing,
To fan and cool my bosom's heat;
Come thou gay merle from the bush,
Thy spotted plumes in my tears to weet;
For I have tint the dearest lad,
That ere made damsel's bosom glad.
2
Sweet Nith, along thy golden sand,
Oft have I traced my true love's feet;
And bless'd the print of his white foot,
When it came lightly me to meet:
But, faithless rose thy rebel wave,
And swept my lover to his grave.
3
I daurnae tell what dims my eye,
Or keeps it until morning woke;
Nor what my bosom fills with throbs,
Or what all earthly hope has broke;
Or why my soul remains with pain,
In earthly dwelling gross and vain.
4
For when in adoration wrapt,
My father kneels in holy hour;
Oh! he doth pray for the wounded soul,
That heaven's breath may it restore:
My heart most comes in smother'd sighs,
And my sad soul melts in mine eyes.
