Thy loveliest are thy bright-eyed girls,
Of fairy forms and elfin curls,
And smiles like Hermon's dew.
They've hearts, like those they're born to wed,
Too proud to nurse a slave.
They'd scorn to share a monarch's bed,
And sooner lay their angel head
Deep in their humble grave."
Hugh Peters.
"Ye say they all have pass'd away,