(Words For The Air Commonly Called "Pestal")
I.
Fly, poor soul, fly on,
No early clouds shall stop thy roaming;
Fly, till day be gone,
Nor fold thy wings before the gloaming.
He thou lov'st will soon be far beyond thy flight,
Other lands to light,
Leaving thee in night.
Let no fear of loss thy heavenly pathway cross;
Better then to lose than now.
II.
Now, faint heart, arise,
And proudly feel that he regards thee;
Draw from godlike eyes
Some grace to last when love discards thee.
Once thou hast been blest by one too high for thee;
Fate will have him be
Great and fancy-free,
When some noble maid her hand in his hath laid,
Give him up, poor heart, and break.