| 'Tis eve; how that rich sunlight streameth through |
|
|
| I scarce would let that restless eye |
|
|
| Now fall the last drops of the shower |
|
|
| The Ante-room is hushed and still |
|
|
| The Bridal |
|
|
| There's not always |
|
|
| Late Branch of murdered royalty |
|
|
| A Better lot is thine fair maid |
|
|
| Justine upon thy silent tomb the dews of eving weep |
|
|
| On bending stalk a bonny flower |
|
|