I go to the land where my father is gone;
His ghost shall rejoice in the fame of his son.
Death comes, like a friend, to relieve me from pain,
And thy son, O Alknomook! has scorn'd to complain.
MY MOTHER BIDS ME BIND MY HAIR.
My mother bids me bind my hair
With bands of rosy hue,
Tie up my sleeves with ribbons rare,
And lace my boddice blue.
"For why," she cries, "sit still and weep,
While others dance and play?"
Alas! I scarce can go or creep,
While Lubin is away.
'Tis sad to think the days are gone,
When those we love were near;
I sit upon this mossy stone,
And sigh when none can hear.
And while I spin my flaxen thread,
And sing my simple lay,
The village seems asleep or dead,
Now Lubin is away.
THE FLOWERS OF THE FOREST.[4]
Adieu! ye streams that smoothly glide,
Through mazy windings o'er the plain;
I 'll in some lonely cave reside,
And ever mourn my faithful swain.