Part 10 — THE SPANISH LOVERS.

WITH AN ENGRAVING.

Swing, lady, swing! the birds do swing

Upon the boughs above,

As, swayed by breezes soft and warm,

They sing their songs of love.

A fairer and a purer thing,

And far diviner, thou.

Swing, swaying to thy lover’s hand,

Beneath the greenwood bough!

The winter cold may come ere long,

And soon the autumn rain,

But saddened ne’er the birds’ gay song

With thought of future pain.

So love, which hath its summer time,

Its winter too may know,

But quaff thou, lady, present bliss,

Nor dream of future wo.