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SOXGS. 115 



IV. 



Is it, is it so, my Edwy ? 



AVill thy slumbers never fly ? 

 Couldst thou think I would survive thee ? 

 No, my love, thou bidst me die. 

 Thou bidst me seek 

 Thy death-bed bleak 

 All along where the salt waves sigh. 



V. 



I will gently kiss thy cold lips, 



On thy breast I'll lay my head, 

 And the winds shall sing our death-dirge. 

 And our shroud the waters spread ; 

 The moon will smile sweet, 

 And the wild wave will beat, 

 Oh ! so softly o'er our lonely bed. 



THE WANDERING BOY. 



A Song, 

 I. 

 "When the winter wind whistles along the wild moor, 

 And the cottager shuts on the beggar his door ; 

 When the chilling tear stands in my comfortless eye, 

 Oh, how hard is the lot of the wandering boy ! 



II. 



The winter is cold, and I have no vest, 

 And my heart it is cold as it beats in my breast ; 

 No father, no mother, no kindred have I, 

 For I am a parentless wandering boy. 



III. 

 Yet I once had a home, and I once had a sire, 

 A mother, who granted each infant desire ; 

 Our cottage it stood in a wood embower'd vale, 

 Where the ringdove would warble its sorrowful tale. 



