SONGS. 



SONG. 

 Written at the Age of Fourteen, 



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- 



II. 

 I have cover'd him with rushes. 



Water-flags, and branches dry. 

 Edwy, long have been thy slumlDern ; 

 Edwy, Edwy, ope thine eye ! 

 My love is asleep. 

 He lies by the deep. 

 All along where the salt waves sigh. 



III. 



Still he sleeps ; he will not wal<en, 



Fastly closed is his eye ; 

 Paler is his cheek, and chiller 

 Than the icy moon on high. 



Alas ! he is dead, J 



He has chose his deathbed j 



All along where the salt waves siah. ! 



