Page:Cheskian Anthology.pdf/145

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134

Time flies—and soon the grass is mown;

Alas! 'tis mown—

Would I had ne'er that sportsman known!

She wash'd the linen by the stream;

Alas! the stream:

And bitterly upbraided him.

Before I met that sportsman there;

Alas! 'twas there—

I was a rose—all pure and fair.

Beauty and purity are gone;

Alas! are gone—

He is gone too—the faithless one!

He to another breast hath crept;

Alas! hath crept—

And then the maiden wept and wept.

Ah! go not to the grove, ye fair;

Alas! ye fair—

For ye may meet a sportsman there.