SONG
.
BIRD
soaring
high
,
cloud
in
the
sky
,
Where
go
ye
?
O
where
go
ye
?
Where
the
smoke
from
the
gipsy's
fire
is
veering
,
And
our
gay
little
boat
,
o'er
the
blue
frith
steering
,
Will
soon
bear
me
.
My
thoughts
before
,
on
yonder
shore
,
Are
free
as
wind
,
are
free
as
wind
,
While
this
body
of
mine
on
its
palfrey
riding
,
Right
lazy
of
pace
,
or
on
smooth
wave
gliding
,
Is
far
behind
.
But
see
I
not
,
yon
distant
spot
?
O
now
I
see
,
O
now
I
see
!
Where
the
mist
up
the
distant
hill
is
creeping
,
And
woods
through
the
morning
cloud
are
peeping
,
There
dwelleth
she
.
Doth
gentle
deep
her
senses
steep
Or
does
she
wake
?
or
does
she
wake
?
Even
now
perhaps
,
her
dark
hair
raising
,
At
her
casement
she
stands
,
o'er
the
waters
she's
gazing
,
All
for
my
sake
.
Her
face
is
gay
as
the
joyous
day
,
And
O
how
sweet
!
and
O
how
sweet
!
Her
voice
as
she
utters
her
modest
greeting
,
While
my
heart
at
the
sound
is
so
quickly
beating
,
Whene'er
we
meet
!
When
time
runs
on
,
and
weeks
are
gone
,
Then
on
that
shore
,
then
on
that
shore
,
I'll
meet
her
with
all
my
gay
bridesmen
bounding
,
In
light-hearted
glee
to
the
minstrel's
sounding
,
And
part
no
more
.