The small birds rejoice in the green leaves returning, The murmuring streamlet winds clear thro' the vale; The primroses blow in the dews of the morning, And wild scatter'd cowslips bedeck the green dale: But what can give pleasure, or what can seem fair, When the lingering moments are numbered by care? No birds sweetly singing, nor flow'rs gaily springing, Can soothe the sad bosom of joyless despair. The deed that I dared, could it merit their malice? A king and a father to place on his throne! His right are these hills, and his right are these valleys, Where the wild beasts find shelter, tho' I can find none! But 'tis not my suff'rings, thus wretched, forlorn, My brave gallant friends, 'tis your ruin I mourn; Your faith proved so loyal in hot bloody trial, -- Alas! I can make it no better return! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...POOR DEVIL! by STEPHEN VINCENT BENET SPRING BLIZZARD by JAMES GALVIN COMPANIONS by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON WAITER IN A CALIFORNIA VIETNAMESE RESTURANT by CLARENCE MAJOR CONSECRATED GROUND; READ AT THE NEW YORK CITY HALL by EDWIN MARKHAM SPOON RIVER ANTHOLOGY: OAKS TUTT by EDGAR LEE MASTERS |