The Little Girl Lost

In futurityI prophetic see,That the earth from sleep,(Grave the sentence deep)

Shall arise and seekFor her maker meek;And the desart wildBecome a garden mild.

In the southern clime,Where the summers prime,Never fades away;Lovely Lyca lay.

Seven summers oldLovely Lyca told,She had wanderd long,Hearing wild birds song.

Sweet sleep come to meUnderneath this tree;Do father, mother weep,—Where can Lyca sleep.

Lost in desart wildIs your little child.How can Lyca sleep,If her mother weep.

If her heart does ake,Then let Lyca wake;If my mother sleep,Lyca shall not weep.

Frowning frowning night,O'er this desart bright,Let thy moon arise,While I close my eyes.

Sleeping Lyca lay;While the beasts of prey,Come from caverns deep,View'd the maid asleep

The kingly lion stoodAnd the virgin view'd,Then he gambold roundO'er the hallowd ground:

Leopards, tygers play,Round her as she lay;While the lion old,Bow'd his mane of gold,

And her bosom lick,And upon her neck,From his eyes of flame,Ruby tears there came;

While the lioness,Loos'd her slender dress,And naked they convey'dTo caves the sleeping maid.