918 ANNUAL REGISTER, 1809. 



And unconstrain'd to rove along 

 The bushy brakes and glens among ; 

 And woo the muse's gentle power, 

 In unfrequented rural bower ! 

 But ah ! such heav'n-approaching joys 

 Will never greet my longing eyes : 

 Still will they cheat in vision fine, 

 Yet never but in fancy shine. 



Oh ! that I were- the little wren 

 That shrilly chirps from yonder glen ! 

 Oh far away I then would rove, 

 To some secluded bushy grove; 

 There hop and sing with careless glee, 

 Hop and sing at liberty ; 

 And till death shall stop my lays, 

 Far from men would spend my days. 



SONG. 



WRITTEN AT THE AGE OF FOURTEEN. 



[From the same.] 



I. 



SOFTLY, softly blow, ye breezes. 

 Gently o'er my Edwy fly ! 

 Lo ! he slumbers, slumbers sweetly; 

 Softly, zephyrs, pass him by ! 

 My love is asleep. 

 He lies by the deep, 

 All along where the salt waves sigh. 



n. 



I have cover'd him with rushes, 



Water-flags, and branches dry. 

 Edwy, long have been thy slumbers ; 

 Edwy, Edwy, ope thine eye ! 

 My love is asleep, 

 He lies by the deep, 

 All along where the salt waves sigh. 



in. 



Still he sleeps ; he will not waken, 



Fastly closed is his eye ; 

 Paler is his cheek, and chiller 

 Thau the icy moon on high, 

 Alas he is dead. 

 He has chose his death-bed. 

 All along where the salt waves sigh. 



Is 



