Not a blossom had even begun to blow!
How she wish'd herself back again under the ground!
How she wish'd herself back again under the ground!
The tear in her timid and sorrowful eye
Might well put the zephyr and beam to the blush;
But the saucy light laugh'd, and said, "Pray don't cry!"
And the gay zephyr sang to her, "Hush, sweet, hush!"
Might well put the zephyr and beam to the blush;
But the saucy light laugh'd, and said, "Pray don't cry!"
And the gay zephyr sang to her, "Hush, sweet, hush!"
They kiss'd her and petted her fondly at first;
But a storm arose, and the false light fled;
And the zephyr changed into angry breeze,
That scolded her till she was almost dead!
But a storm arose, and the false light fled;
And the zephyr changed into angry breeze,
That scolded her till she was almost dead!
The gem on her bosom was stain'd and dark,
The snow of her robe had lost its light,
And tears of sorrow had dimm'd the spark
Of beauty and youth, that made her bright!
The snow of her robe had lost its light,
And tears of sorrow had dimm'd the spark
Of beauty and youth, that made her bright!
And so she lay with her fair head low,
And mournfully sigh'd in her dying hour,
"Ah! had I courageously answer'd 'no!'
I had now been safe in my native bower!"
And mournfully sigh'd in her dying hour,
"Ah! had I courageously answer'd 'no!'
I had now been safe in my native bower!"
