the chevalier's lament
air—“captain o'kean.”
the small birds rejoice in the green leaves returning,
the murmuring streamlet winds clear thro' the vale;
the primroses blow in the dews of the morning,
and wild scatter'd cowslips bedeck the green dale:
but what can give pleasure, or what can seem fair,
when the lingering moments are numbered by care?
no birds sweetly singing, nor flow'rs gaily springing,