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Poem by Henry Kirke White

A Ballad

Be hush'd, be hush'd, ye bitter winds,
Ye pelting rains, a little rest;
Lie still, lie still, ye busy thoughts,
That wring with grief my aching breast.

Oh! cruel was my faithless love,
To triumph o'er an artless maid;
Oh! cruel was my faithless love,
To leave the breast by him betray'd.

When exiled from my native home,
He should have wiped the bitter tear;
Nor left me faint and lone to roam,
A heart-sick weary wanderer here.

My child moans sadly in my arms,
The winds they will not let it sleep:
Ah, little knows the hapless babe
What makes its wretched mother weep!

Now lie thee still, my infant dear,
I cannot bear thy sobs to see,
Harsh is thy father, little one,
And never will he shelter thee.

Oh, that I were but in my grave,
And winds were piping o'er me loud,
And thou, my poor, my orphan babe,
Wert nestling in thy mother's shroud!

Henry Kirke White

Henry Kirke White's other poems:
  1. My Own Character
  2. Lines Supposed to Be Spoken by a Lover at the Grave of His Mistress
  3. The Prostitute
  4. Clifton Grove
  5. Inscription for a Monument to the Memory of Cowper

Poems of the other poets with the same name:

  • John Gay A Ballad ("'Twas when the seas were roaring")
  • Mary Montagu A Ballad ("To that dear nymph, whose pow'rful name")
  • Charles Lamb A Ballad ("In a costly palace Youth goes clad in gold")
  • Alexander Brome A Ballad ("OLd England is now a brave Barbary made")
  • Menella Smedley A Ballad ("O, were you at war in the red Eastern land?")

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