In a Mirtle Shade

Why should I be bound to thee,
O my lovely mirtle tree?
Love, free love, cannot be bound
To any tree that grows on ground.

O! how sick and weary I
Underneath my mirtle lie;
Like to dung upon the ground,
Underneath my mirtle bound.

Oft my mirtle sigh'd in vain
To behold my heavy chain:
Oft my father saw us sigh,
And laugh'd at our simplicity.

So I smote him, & his gore
Stain'd the roots my mirtle bore.
But the time of youth is fled,
And grey hairs are on my head.