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152 |
SONGS. ETC. |
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Grave was his face, but oft time
No fun his features lacked, His sociaKglass he dearly loved,
And pleasant jokes he cracked ; He had the fashion, every year,
Of going to the brook, With rod in hand, and creel on back,
To get. a farewell look. |
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THE LAxMENT,
Swift stream, if e'er thy limpid flow.
Should meet the man 1 prize, The angler tell there's tears of woe,
Just flown from Damon's eyes.
And thou, O zephyr, quickly fly,
And lull his soul to rest; The angler tell thou art a sigh,
Just flown from Damon's breast.
[f tears to soothe him nought avail, Nor sigh can singly move,
Then, both united, tell the tale, Of hapless Damon's love. |
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R.G. |
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