Song Addressed to a Lady
ADDRESSED TO A LADY
How sweet when the nightingale sings from yon grove,
When the moon is half hid o'er the hill;
When nothing is heard but the whispers of love,
And the sound of the far distant rill.
How sweet with the friend of our bosom to stray,
'Midst scenes such as these to commune;
And, quitting the glitter and bustle of day,
Mend the heart, and the passions attune.
May this oft' be our lot, so wisdom divine,
Shall lead us a flowery way;
So our morning of life shall brilliantly shine,
And its evening be cloudless and gay.
How sweet when the nightingale sings from yon grove,
When the moon is half hid o'er the hill;
When nothing is heard but the whispers of love,
And the sound of the far distant rill.
How sweet with the friend of our bosom to stray,
'Midst scenes such as these to commune;
And, quitting the glitter and bustle of day,
Mend the heart, and the passions attune.
May this oft' be our lot, so wisdom divine,
Shall lead us a flowery way;
So our morning of life shall brilliantly shine,
And its evening be cloudless and gay.
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