296 TROU VERES.
My garden is a beauteous spot,
Garnish'd with blossoms gay ;
There a true lover guards her well,
By night as well as day.
Alas ! no sweeter thing can be,
Than that sweet nightingale ;
Joyous he sings at morning hour,
Till, tired, his numbers fail.
But late I saw my lady cull
The violets on the green :
How lovely did she look ! methought,
What beauty there was seen !
An instant on her form I gazed,
So delicately white ;
Mild as the tender lamb was she,
And as the red rose bright.
My garden is a beauteous spot,
Garnish'd with blossoms gay ;
There a true lover guards her well,
By night as well as day.
Alas ! no sweeter thing can be,
Than that sweet nightingale ;
Joyous he sings at morning hour,
Till, tired, his numbers fail.
But late I saw my lady cull
The violets on the green :
How lovely did she look ! methought,
What beauty there was seen !
An instant on her form I gazed,
So delicately white ;
Mild as the tender lamb was she,
And as the red rose bright.