the chevalier's lament

air—“captain o'kean.”

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,