The Song of the Old Man of the Wood
Amelia Alderson Opie
1769 to 1853
False to me while Fortune prov'd
Love with hers, his arts combin'd,
From my sight when she remov'd,
Love refus'd to stay behind.
Yet dear Maid! for thee alone,
Still I bow'd at Fortune's shrine,
And what e'er my toils might crown,
All, yes all, had sure been thine.
Now alas! poor, unconsol'd,
I must stray, this wide World thro'
And no more must dare behold,
Charms, which on, my ruin drew.
Still my love, 'midst all my pain,
I shall pray for bliss to thee:
When thou win'st a richer Swain,
May he truly love like me.
Amelia Alderson Opie's The Song of the Old Man of the Wood
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