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‹‹‹ prev (145) Page 133Page 133Youth adorn'd with every art

(147) next ››› Page 135Page 135Come Jessie, love

(146) Page 134 - When summer comes
134« THE POCKET SONGSTER ;
In moving sounds he told his tale,
Soft as the sighings of the gale
That wakes the flowery year.
What wonder he could charm with ease,
Whom happy nature form'd to please,
Whom love had made sincere.
At morn he left me, — ^fought, and fell,
The fatal evening heard his knell,
And saw the tears I shed :
Tears that must ever, ever fall ;
For, ah ! no sighs, the past recal,
No cries awake the dead ! Mallet,
WHEN SUMMER COMES.
Tune — The broom of Cotvdenhwws,
When summer comes, the swains on Tweed
Sing their successful loves ;
Around the ewes and lambkins feed.
And music fills the groves.
But my loved song is then the broom
So fair on Cowdenknows ;
For sure so sweet, so soft a bloom
Elsewhere there never grows.
There Colin tuned his oaten reed,
And won my yielding heart ;
No shepherd e'er that dwelt on Tweed
Could play with half such art.

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