Treasure Island

Sir John Carr

(1732-1807 / England)

A Roundelay


Wide thro' the azure blue and bright
Serenely floats the lamp of night;
The sleeping waves forget to move,
And silent is the cedar grove;
Each breeze suspended seems to say-
'Now, Leline, for thy Roundelay!'

My Delia's lids are clos'd in rest;
Ah! were her pillow but my breast!
Go, dreams! one gentle word impart,
In whispers place me by her heart;
While near her door I'll fondly stray,
And sooth her with my Roundelay.

But, ah! the Night draws in her shade,
And glimm'ring stars reluctant fade:
Yet sleep, my love! nor may'st thou feel
The pangs which griefs like mine reveal:
Adieu! for Morning's on his way,
And bids me close my Roundelay.

Submitted: Thursday, September 30, 2010
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