 | English melodies |  |
74
HE'S CROSSING O'ER THE BRIDGE, JANE.
He's crossing o'er the bridge, Jane,
He's pass'd the ruin'd wall;
He looks at Mary's cottage—
But he does not—will not call:
No—see he's passing quickly,
As if afraid to wait;
His breath is coming thickly—
He's knocking at our gate.
He's pass'd the ruin'd wall;
He looks at Mary's cottage—
But he does not—will not call:
No—see he's passing quickly,
As if afraid to wait;
His breath is coming thickly—
He's knocking at our gate.
Come, braid your lovely hair, Jane,
And smooth away that frown,
Lift up that drooping bosom,
And hasten kindly down;
Believe me he's repenting,
And though it come but late,
'Tis useless now lamenting—
He's knocking at the gate.
And smooth away that frown,
Lift up that drooping bosom,
And hasten kindly down;
Believe me he's repenting,
And though it come but late,
'Tis useless now lamenting—
He's knocking at the gate.
75
And though he knock for ever,
Knock, till the stars grow dim,
Each tress I would dissever—
Ere braid my hair for him:
Ere take one step to greet him—
Or act so weak a part;—
Let Mary haste to meet him,
He will not break his heart.
Knock, till the stars grow dim,
Each tress I would dissever—
Ere braid my hair for him:
Ere take one step to greet him—
Or act so weak a part;—
Let Mary haste to meet him,
He will not break his heart.
The last attempt hath ended,
Each lingering knock is o'er;
The youth's false step hath wended
Its way to Mary's door.
One look of woe—no painting
Hath ever yet express'd;
And that wrong'd heart lies fainting
Upon a sister's breast.
Each lingering knock is o'er;
The youth's false step hath wended
Its way to Mary's door.
One look of woe—no painting
Hath ever yet express'd;
And that wrong'd heart lies fainting
Upon a sister's breast.
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