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Flow On, Thou Shining River. (Portuguese Air.)
By Thomas Moore
Flow on, thou shining river;
But ere thou reach the sea
Seek Ella's bower and give her
The wreaths I fling o'er thee
And tell her thus, if she'll be mine
The current of our lives shall be,
With joys along their course to shine,
Like those sweet flowers on thee.
But if in wandering thither
Thou find'st she mocks my prayer,
Then leave those wreaths to wither
Upon the cold bank there;
And tell her thus, when youth is o'er,
Her lone and loveless Charms shall be
Thrown by upon life's weedy shore.
Like those sweet flowers from thee.
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