16
Far far, at Sea.
'TWAS at night, when the bell had toll'd twelve,
And poor Susan was laid on her pillow,
In her ear whisper'd some fitting elve—
Your love is now toss'd on a billow,
Far, far at sea!
All was dark, as she woke out of breath,
Not an object her fears could discover;
All was still as the silence of death,
Save fancy, which painted her lover,
Far, far at sea!
So she whisper'd a prayer—clos'd her eyes,
But the phantom still haunted her pillow;
Whilst in terror she echo'd his cries,
As struggling he sunk in a billow,
Far, far at sea!
The Bewildered Maid.
SLOW broke the light and sweet breath'd the morn,
When a maiden I saw sitting under a thorn,
Her dark hair hung loose on her bosom of snow,
Her eyes look'd bewilder'd, her cheeks pale with woe.
Ah! whence is thy sorrow, fair maiden? said I.
The green grave will answer, she said, with a sigh.
The merry lark so sweetly did sing o'er her head,
As she thought on her grief, and the battle, she said.
The breeze murmur'd by, when she look'd up forlorn,
Hark! Hark! didst thou hear, 'twas the sigh of the morn;
They say, that in battle my love met his death,
But ah 'twas this hawthorn that robb'd his sweet breath.
