Songs

There sits a bird on yonder tree,
More fond than Cushat dove;
There sits a bird on yonder tree,
And sings to me of love.
Oh stoop thee from thine eyrie down,
And nestle thee near my heart,
For the moments fly and the hour is nigh,
When thou and I must part,
My love! when thou and I must part.

In yonder covert lurks a fawn,
The pride of sylvan scene:
In yonder covert lurks a fawn,
And I am his only queen:
Oh! bound from thy secret lair,
For the sun is below the west:
No mortal eye may our meeting spy,
And all are closed in rest.

Oh! sweet is the breath of morn,
When the sun's first beams appear;
Oh! sweet is the shepherd's strain,
When it dies on the list'ning ear.
Oh! sweet the soft voice that speaks
The wanderer's welcome home;
But sweeter far by yon pale mild star,
With our true love thus to roam,
My dear! with our own true love to roam.