RETURN. There's wailing in the night for thee, And at the time when birds glee. Harmonious make the festal bow
... Where maidens wreath fresh-gat herd flow rs form those chaplets tor their hair, Which make their beauty all too fair. There's dimness round our fireside now. There's sadness thy father's brow. There's paleness thy sister's cheek, And quiv'ring lips when he would s|>e:ik. Thy brother—oh ! how proud thee Ere thou didst lapse infamy ! What of thy mother shall say ? Still for the Lost One she doth ...