Th Ch L（1 / 1）

the chevalier&039;s nt

air—“capta o&039;kean”

the sall birds rejoice the green leaves returng,

the ururg strealet ds clear thro&039; the vale;

the priroses blow the dews of the orng,

and wild scatter&039;d wslips bedeck the green dale:

but what can give pleasure, or what can see fair,

when the lrg onts are nubered by care?

no birds sweetly sgg, nor flow&039;rs gaily sprgg,

can othe the sad bo of joyless despair

the deed that i dared, uld it rit their alice?

a kg and a father to pce on his throne!

his right are these hills, and his right are these valleys,

where the wild beasts fd shelter, tho&039; i can fd none!

but &039;tis not y suff&039;rgs, th wretched, forlorn,

y brave galnt friends, &039;tis your ru i ourn;

your faith proved loyal hot bloody trial,—

as! i can ake it no better return!