the chevalier'sment

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,

can soothe the sad bosom of joyless despair.