the chevalier's ment
air—“captain o'kean.”
the small birds rejoi the green leaves returning,
the murmuring streamlet winds clear thro' the vale;
the primroses blow in the dews of the m,
and wild scatter'd cowslips bedeck the green dale:
but what give pleasure, or what seem fair,
when the lingering moments are numbered by care?
no birds sweetly singing, nor flow&#aily springing,
soothe the sad bosom of joyless despair.
the deed that i dared, could it merit their malice?
a king and a father to p his throne!
his right are these hills, and his right are these valleys,
where the wild beasts find shelter, tho' i find none!
but 'tis not my suff&#s, thus wretched, forlorn,
my brave galnt friends, 'tis your ruin i mourn;
your faith proved so loyal in hot bloody trial,—
as! i make it er return!