letra de jane austen - ode to pity - ghizela rowe
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ever musing i delight to tread
the paths of honour and the myrtle grove
whilst the pale moon her beams doth shed
on disappointed love
while philomel on airy hawth-rn bush
sings sweet and melancholy, and the thrush
converses with the dove
gently brawling down the turnpike road
sweetly noisy falls the silent stream—
the moon emerges from behind a cloud
and darts upon the myrtle grove her beam
ah! then what lovely scenes appear
the hut, the cot, the grot, and chapel queer
and eke the abbey too a mouldering heap
conceal’d by aged pines her head doth rear
and quite invisible doth take a peep
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