The Song Of The Wandering Lady, Founded On A True Story.
18th Century Anne Hunter EnglishTHE SONG OF THE WANDERING LADY,
FOUNDED ON A TRUE STORY.
THROUGH dreary wilds forlorn I go When loud the storms of winter blow; On me they waste their rage in vain, For I can feel nor joy nor pain.
My sheep, companions kind and true, Yes, I can feel a pang for you; Come gather round, and I will keep The watch, and sing while you shall sleep.
Ah, these were once my lover's care, Of all the flock he held them dear; With me they left their native fold, And brav'd the winds of winter cold.
They follow wheresoe'er I lead, And while I sit and see them feed, Methinks the sunny days return Ere yet my heart had learnt to mourn.
To mourn a father's cruel pride, By whose rash hand my lover died; O cruel, cruel was the deed, That caus'd so kind a heart to bleed.
O youth belov'd, thy voice no more Can peace to my sad soul restore; To seek thy native hills I fly, Where thou wert born I go to die!