(A CASTLE BAYNARD LYRIC.)
(_For the Mirror_.)
My peace is fled--I cannot rest,--
The tale I tell most true is;
My heart's been stolen from my breast,
By lovely Nancy Lewis.
Fair is the blossom of the thorn,
And bright the morning dew is;
But sweeter than the dewy morn
The smiles of Nancy Lewis.
The eye that's sparkling black I love,
Ay, more than that which blue is;
And thine are like two stars above,
And sloe black--Nancy Lewis.
Alas! alas! their power I feel;
My bosom pierced right through is:
In pity, then, my bosom heal,
My charming Nancy Lewis.
Oh! bless me with thy heaven of charms,
And take a heart that true is,
While circling life my bosom warms
In thine dear Nancy Lewis.