Poem by Anonymous

Ballad of Bedlam

Oh, lady, wake! the azure moon
	Is rippling in the verdant skies,
The owl is warbling his soft tune,
	Awaiting but thy snowy eyes.
The joys of future years are past,
	To-morrow’s hopes have fled away;
Still let us love, and e’en at last
	We shall be happy yesterday.

The early beam of rosy night
	Drives off the ebon morn afar,
While through the murmur of the light
	The huntsman winds his mad guitar.
Then, lady, wake! my brigantine
	Pants, neighs, and prances to be free;
Till the creation I am thine,
	To some rich desert fly with me.

                            			Punch.

1. Gathering of Atholl
2. Lord Strafford’s Meditations in the Tower
3. The Bells of Fletching
4. The Old Scottish Gentleman
5. Barthram’s Dirge

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