Lelia, or, The Maniac’s Song
COME, ye wild winds, that round the welkin fly, Bear the sad Lelia on your wings of air, Then shall she downward cast a pitying eye On all the troubled sons of toilsome care. I had a friend, she prov'd unkind; I had a love, he prov'd untrue; Where they are fled, I cannot find; A dark dark cloud obscures my view. Hark! is not that a passing bell? Affection in the grave is laid; Some kindred spirit tolls her knell, And love, perhaps, himself is dead. When the cock crows, and morn is come, A pilgrim grey I'll seek their tomb: Ah no, alas! my hands are bound, Dark walls and grates inclose me round, Sad Lelia sits alone on the cold cold ground.
Anne Hunter’s other poems:
