84
POEMS.
NANINE,
OR,
THE EMIGRANT.
On the waves the winds were sleeping,
Swift my boat approached the land:
There I found a Maiden weeping;
Who can female tears withstand?
Ceased at once my joyous ditty,
Gently moved my silent oar,
While I said in sounds of pity,
—"Pry'thee, Sweet-heart, weep no more!"—
Swift my boat approached the land:
There I found a Maiden weeping;
Who can female tears withstand?
Ceased at once my joyous ditty,
Gently moved my silent oar,
While I said in sounds of pity,
—"Pry'thee, Sweet-heart, weep no more!"—
