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The quiet taper burns,

And makes thy casement bright, And soft thy shadow falls

Between me and the light; I gaze as on a shrine

My heart would bend before ; My couch had seen no rest,

Had I not seen thy door.

The night, as if to breathe,

Her starry curtain parts; The very air seems faint

With breath of lovers' hearts : Some spirit robes the earth

In light that heaven wore ; Or is that light thine own;

And is that heaven thy door ?


(From Swain's English Melodies.)

Wherefore is thy flight so free ? Singing-soaring-day by day; Thou’rt a bird of low degree !

Tirral-la ! Scarcely shelter'd from the mould,

We thy humble nest can see; Wherefore is thy song so bold, Little bird of low degree?

Tirral-la! Tirral-la!

Humbly though my dwelling lie,

Next door neighbour to the earth; Rank, though lifted ne'er so high, Cannot soar like humble worth :

Shall I silently repine

When these birds of loftier airs
Say no parent race of mine
Built a nest as high as theirs ?

Tirral-la! Tirral-la !

Give me but a summer morn,

Sweet with dew and golden light,
And the richest plumage born
Well may envy me my flight!

Through the azure halls of day

Where the path of freedom lies,
Tirral-la! is still my lay-
Onward, upward to the skies

Tirral-la! Tirral-Ia !


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