Maria Louisa?s Lamentation

Curiosity tore a young native of Erin
To view the gay banks of the Rhine,
When an Empress he saw and the robe she was wearing
All over with diamonds did shine
A Goddess in splendor was never yet seen,
To equal this fair one so mild and serene
In soft murmur she says my sweet linnet so green,
Are you gone will I never see you more,
The cold lofty Alps you freely went over
Which Nature had placed in your way,
That Maringo, Salony around you did hover
And Paris did rejoice the next day
It grieves me the hardship you did undergo
Over mountains you traveled all covered with snow.
The balance of power your courage laid low
Are you gone will I never see you more
The Crown heads of Europe when you are in splendor
Fain they would have submit
But the Goddess of freedom soon bid them surrender
And lowered the standard to your wit.
Old Frederick?s colours in France you did bring,
Yet his offspring found shelter under your wing
That year in Virginia you sweetly did sing
Are you gone will I never see you more
What numbers of men are eager to slay you
Their malice you viewed with a smile
Their gold thro? all Europe they sowed to betray you
And they joined Mamelukes on the Nile,
Like ravens for blood their vile passions did burn
The orphans they slew and caused widows to mourn,
They say my linnet?s gone and never will return
Is he gone will I never see him more,
When the trumpet of war the grand blast was sounding
You marched to the north with good will
You used your exertion and skill
You spread but thy wings of your poor envied train,
While tyrants great Caesar old nest set in flames
Their own subjects they caused to eat herbs on the plain,
Are you gone will I never see you more
In great Waterloo where numbers lay sprawling
In every field high or low,
Pame on her trumpets thro? Frenchmen were calling
Freak laurels to place on her brow
Usurpers did tremble to hear her loud call
This third old Babe?s new buildings did fall
The Spaniards their fleet in the harbour did haul
Are you gone will I never see you more
I?ll roam thro? the deserts of wild Abbysynia
And yet find no cure for my pain;
Will I go and enquire the Isle of St. Helena
No we will whisper in vain
Tell me you critics now tell me in time
The Nation I will range my linnet to find
Was he slain at Waterloo, Elba, or the Rhine
She was I will never see him more.

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