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Peer Marget! oft I pity thee,
Oh! this weary, weary warl!
'TWAS ROSA'S LIP, TWAS ROSA'S EYE.
What though 'tis true I've talk'd of love,
Entwin'd round every part.
Oh, no! oh, no!
*Twas Rosa rul'd my heart.
I own, betray'd by youth or wine,
Enraptur'd with her art.
Oh, no! oh, no!
And touch'd my copscious heart.
THE CYPRESS WREATH,
O Lady twine no wreath for me,
The May-flower and the eglantine,
Let dimpl'd mirth his temples twine,
Let merry England proudly rear
Strike the wild harp, while maids prepare
Let the loud trump his triumph tell, But when you hear the passing bell, Then, Lady, twine a wreath for me, And twine it of the cypress tree.
Yes, twine for me the cypress bough, But, oh, Matilda, twine not now! Stay till a few brief months are past, And I have look'd and lov'd my last! When villagers my shroud bestrew, With pansies, rosemary, and rue, Then, Lady, weave a wreath for me, And weave it of the cypress tree.
THE MOUNTAIN FLOWER.
My love can boast a sweeter flowet, Than can be seen in cultur'd bower, When gently falls the evening shower
Upon the opening blossoin.
This early flower, on mountain side,
Which guards its native shores.
I love to seek the primrose pale
When winter's storm is o'er.
In primrose pale I sometimes trace
That blooms when rases wither,
THE MAID OF GLENCONNEL.
AIR-The banks of the Devon.
The pearl of the fountain, the rose of the valley,
Aresparkling and lovely, are stainless and mild; The pearl sheds its ray 'neath the dark water, gaily,
The rose opes its blossom, to bloom on the wild.