AY, screen thy favourite dove, fair child,
Ay, screen it if you may,--
Yet I misdoubt thy trembling hand
Will scare the hawk away.
That dove will die, that child will weep,--
Is this their destinie?
Ever amid the sweets of life
Some evil thing must be.
Ay, moralize,--is it not thus
We've mourn'd our hope and love?
Alas! there's tears for every eye,
A hawk for every dove!
