The small birds rejoice on the green leaves returning
The murmuring streamlet winds clear thro' the vale;
The primroses blow in the dews of the morning
And wild scatter'd cowslips bedeck the green dale:
But what can give pleasure, or what can seem fair
When the lingering moments are number'd wi' care?
No birds sweetly singing, nor flow'rs gaily springing
Can soothe the sad bosom of joyless despair
The deed that I dared, could it merit their malice?
A king and a father to place on his throne!
His right are these hills, and his right are these valleys
Where wild beasts find shelter, tho' I can find none!
But 'tis not my suff'rings, thus wretched, forlorn
My brave gallant friends, 'tis your ruin I mourn;
Your faith proved so loyal in hot bloody trial, --
Alas! I can make it no better return!
The murmuring streamlet winds clear thro' the vale;
The primroses blow in the dews of the morning
And wild scatter'd cowslips bedeck the green dale:
But what can give pleasure, or what can seem fair
When the lingering moments are number'd wi' care?
No birds sweetly singing, nor flow'rs gaily springing
Can soothe the sad bosom of joyless despair
The deed that I dared, could it merit their malice?
A king and a father to place on his throne!
His right are these hills, and his right are these valleys
Where wild beasts find shelter, tho' I can find none!
But 'tis not my suff'rings, thus wretched, forlorn
My brave gallant friends, 'tis your ruin I mourn;
Your faith proved so loyal in hot bloody trial, --
Alas! I can make it no better return!
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