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EBBA 33144

National Library of Scotland - Crawford
Ballad XSLT Template
The Loyal Lovers Farewel,
Or, The True Lovers Mournful Ditty,
For the absence of her Dearest Love, who upon some Importunate occasion was forc'd
to cross the Seas.
The young-man he in sorrow here bewails
The absence of his Love, while that she sails
On surging waves, he is opprest with fear,
Least in a storm they should shipwrak his dear.
But then with hopes to mittigate his pain,
He prays kind Neptune guard her o're the main
And that no danger e're may her annoy,
But in safety return to Crown his Joy.
To the Tune of, Bright was the Morning.

BRight was the morning, cool the air,
serene was all the Sky,
When on the Waves I left my fair,
the center of my joy:
Heaven and Nature smiling were,
and nothing sad but I.

Each Rosie Field its odours spread,
all fragrant was the shore,
Each River God rose from his Bed,

and sigh'd and own'd his power:
Curling their waves, they deckt their head
as proud of what they bore.

Boreas his blustering Winds had lay'd,
but blew a pleasant Gale,
Fanning the Streamers sweetly play'd
and fill'd each swelling Sail;
Then leaving me, farewel, she said,
her absence to bewail.

And from my eyes dropping a tear,
I forced was to part
With her whom I do love so dear,
and doth enjoy my heart;
In a sad Labyrinth of fear,
which causes all my smart.

Least that Dame Fortune fickle prove,
e're she the Seas have crost,
And by a Storm the Waves do move,
and she on them be tost;
Then in distress will be my love,
in danger to be lost.

When stormy winds do blustering blow
and Billows they do rise,
The raging waves no pitty show,
when mounting to the Skies;
All these sad fears create my woe,
while tears flow from my eyes.

Then to that silent Grove straight I,
in discontent repair,
Where I have oft most lovingly,
with joy embrac'd my fair;
For it was her sweet Company,
that banish'd all my care.

O cruel Fate, to me unkind,
to rob me of my dear,
Leaving me here in grief behind,
till she again appear;
For to my grief, alas, I find,
each minute seems a year.

Nor can I e're my grief unfold,
her absence is my pain,
Nor can my joy be ever told,
when she returns again,
Prizing her more than all the Gold,
the Indies doth contain.

And may all happiness attend
on her whom I adore,
While I in tears my time do spend,
oft walking on the shore:
Viewing the waves with sighs, do send
a thousand wishes o're.

Glide on ye waters, bear these lines,
and tell her I'm distrest,
Bear all my sighs ye gentle winds,
waft them to her fair breast;
Tell her if e're she prove unkind,
I never shall have rest.

Guard her kind Neptune then, that she
may bless me with her Charms,
Guide her from Rocks and dangers free
or any other harms;
Bring her with speed o're the wide Sea
in safety to my Arms.

Licensed according to Order.
Printed for J. Blare, at the Looking-glass
on London-Bridge.

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