SONGS. 123 



Who then will soothe thee, when thy mother's sleeping, 

 In her low grave of shame and infamy ! 



Sleep, "baby mine. — To-morrow I must leave thee, 

 And I would snatch an interval of rest ; 



Sleep these last moments, ere the laws bereave thee, 

 For never more thou'lt press a mother's breast 



CANZONET. 

 I. 



Matcen ! wrap thy mantle round thee, 



Cold the rain beats on thj^ breast : 

 Why should horror's voice astound thee ? 

 Death can bid the wretch 3d rest ! 

 All under the tree 

 Thy bed may be, 

 And thou mayst slumber peacefully. 



II. 



Maiden ! once gay pleasure knew thee ; 



Now thy cheeks are pale and deep ; 

 Love has been a felon to thee ; 

 Yet poor maiden do not weep ; 

 There's rest for thee 

 All under the tree, 

 Where thou wilt sleep most peacefullj. 



MELODY. 



Inserted in a collection of selected and original Songs, piillished hy 

 the Rev. J. Plumptke, of Clare Hall, Cambridge, 



I. 



Yes, once more that dying strain, 

 Anna, touch thy lute for me ; 



Sweet, when pity's tones complain, 

 Doubly sweet is melody. 



