The masque of the muses . Gay as a lark, — the gardeners daughter Chanted the livelong a plenty sought to woo her Coming from far and near ;Talking of love and nonsense to her —Clarabel would not hear. Clarabel loved among the daisies — Loved as purely as they ;Farmer William adored her graces — Vowed to love her for aye !While he wooed her, the flowers shone brighter Under her lightsome she loved him her heart grew lighter, Fairer the skies ! Oh! will you be mine forever ? Breathed his heart with a thrill!Sweeter music was warbled never — Clarabel smiled—
The masque of the muses . Gay as a lark, — the gardeners daughter Chanted the livelong a plenty sought to woo her Coming from far and near ;Talking of love and nonsense to her —Clarabel would not hear. Clarabel loved among the daisies — Loved as purely as they ;Farmer William adored her graces — Vowed to love her for aye !While he wooed her, the flowers shone brighter Under her lightsome she loved him her heart grew lighter, Fairer the skies ! Oh! will you be mine forever ? Breathed his heart with a thrill!Sweeter music was warbled never — Clarabel smiled— I v/ill. SONGS AND BALLADS. 89 Clarabel wed among the daisies Which she had loved so well,Thrush and robin joined in her praises, So did the old church and sweet her cot is smiling Close by the village green ;Family joys her hours beguiling — Clarabel reigns a are {)lentier there than ever — Grown in the soil of Love,Thrush and robin had warbled never — Sweet as the peaceful BALLAD. ffMh, PAINTER, who half was a poet,r//V ¥ ^^^ visions of Art and her might;4^4^ She dazzled his spirit with beauty, And flooded his soul with her grasping his palette and pencil, He strolled in the meadows with Spring ;She sported her favorite vesture, And prayed bim to paint her or sing. He sat neath the arch of a rainbow Which garnished the skirts of a smiled through the tears of the springtime At evenings contemplative pencil he dipped in wild roses. And from them the colors he drew:Fair lady, behold his ideal! — A memry-drawn picture of you. The memory—brightest reflector Of beauty which beams on its face —Will cherish the image forever, And neer lose a feature of , spurn not the work as unworthy — The tracing may fail to be true,Yet in the pure colors of nature There must be a likeness of you ! SCOTIA. ST. ANDREWS DAY GLEE.
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Keywords: ., bookcentury1800, bookdecade1880, bookidmasqueofmuse, bookyear1885
