Song XI. My Heart is Devoted Dear Mary to Thee

Tho' the Muses ne'er smile by the light of the sun, Yet they visit my cot when my labour is done, And whilst on my pillow of straw I recline, A wreath of sweet flow'rets they sportively twines. But in vain she fair damsels weave chaplets for me. Since my heart is devoted dear Mary to thee.

Full oft I reflected on my indigent state, But reflection and reason are ever too late, They tell me I sigh for too beauteous a fair, And sill my sad bosom with doubts and despair, Then hope kindly smiling averts their decree, For my heart is dovoted dear Mary to thee.

When the shrill pipe and tabor proclaim the light dance, With transports I see my dear Mary advance, Then such grace she displays while she trips mid the throng, That each shepherd with raptures to her tunes his song, But my none she's belov'd with such truth as by me, For my heart is devoted dear Mary to thee.