The morning sun had drank the dew,
Sweet flow’rs perfum’d the air;
A linnet tow’rd the shrubbery flew
To meet her lover there.
Why comes he not the day so fair!
To meet his destin’d bride?
Whose fluttering bosom heaves with care,
Lest dangers should betide.
Her loudest, softest, note she tries,
From pinetrees highest spray;
No flapsy o’er the pasture flies;
Or answers to her lay.
Ah! cruel was the urchin’s aim,
That stopp’d the warbler’s breath;
Too soon malignant fate it came,
And hurl’d the stone of death.
As onward journ’ying to the shade
To meet his mate he flew,
Nor thought that danger could invade
Where ne’er mistrust he knew.
His faithful songstress in despair,
Her tender eyes shall close,
And pity shed a sacred tear,
Where their remains repose.
Lamented pair thy sorrows prove
How transient life and joy;
How short the pleasures e’en of love
Or bliss the good enjoy.
This moral shall thy fate convey;
Improve the present hours;
Enjoy the blessings of today,
Tomorrow — is not ours!