SONG.

Softly, softly blow, ye breezes, Gently o'er my Edwy fly! Lo! he slumbers, slumbers sweetly; Softly, zephyrs, pass him by! My love is asleep, He lies by the deep, All along where the salt waves sigh.

I have cover'd him with rushes, Water-flags, and branches dry. Edwy, long have been thy slumbers; Edwy, Edwy, ope thine eye! My love is asleep, He lies by the deep, All along where the salt waves sigh.

Still he sleeps; he will not waken, Fastly closed is his eye; Paler is his cheek, and chiller Than the icy moon on high. Alas! he is dead, He has chose his death-bed All along where the salt waves sigh.

Is it, is it so, my Edwy? Will thy slumbers never fly? Couldst thou think I would survive thee? No, my love, thou bid'st me die. Thou bid'st me seek Thy death-bed bleak All along where the salt waves sigh.

I will gently kiss thy cold lips, On thy breast I'll lay my head, And the winds shall sing our death dirge, And our shroud the waters spread; The moon will smile sweet, And the wild wave will beat, Oh! so softly o'er our lonely bed.