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What is your fortune, my pretty maid?
GAILY THE TROUBADOUR. Gaily the Troubadour touch'd his guitar, When he was hastening home from the war, Singing, ‘ From Palestine, hither I come, Lady love, lady love, welcome me home.' She for the Troubadour, hopelessly wept, Sadly she thought of him, when others slept, Singing, · In search of thee, would I might roam, Troubadour, troubadour, come to thy home.' Hark! 't was the Troubadour, breathing her name, Under the battlement softly he came, Singing, ' From Palestine, hither I come, Lady love, lady love, welcome me home.'
ONE DEAR SMILE.
First I sigh’d for thee;
Oh! how blissful life would be!
Joys that lie in slumber cold-
One dear smile, like those of old.
But to mourn the past;
Love so warm, so wil to last.
Not e’en hope could now deceive me
Life itself looks dark and cold; Oh! thou never more canst give me
One dear smile like those of old.
BLUE EYED MARY.
COME, tell me, blue-eyed stranger,
Say, whither dost thou roam?
Hast thou no friends or home,
When friends and fortune smiled;
I now am sorrow's child.'
And ease thy hapless lot,
I'll buy, forget me not.
They're fading like my youth,
Shall wither Mary's truth.'
Thou’lt never wish to roam.
Once more has fortune smiled;
May yet be fortune's child.'
OH! THINK NOT I AM FALSE. Oh! think not I am false as air,
Which perhaps a moment changes;
Just as my fancy ranges.
I swear can wander never;
By ev'ry passing beauty;
To swerve, love, froin my duty.
I adore thee, though we sever;
That I will love thee ever.
IS THERE A HEART.
Or felt soft woman's sigh?
Dear woman's tearful eye?
Or solitary cell,
Where love ne'er deign'd to dwell.
A language in her tear;
To man, to virtue dear;
With brutes alone should live,
That joy her virtues give.
THE MOUNTAIN MAID.
The mountain maid from her bower has hied,
DRINK TO ME ONLY.
And I will pledge with mine;
And I'll not look for wine.
Doth ask a drink divine;
I would not change for thine.
Not so much honoring thee,
It would not wither'd be.
And sent it back to me;
Since then it grows, and looks, and smells,
Not of itself, but thee.
FARE THEE WELL. FARE thee well, and if forever,
Still forever fare thee well! Even though unforgiving, never
'Gainst thee can my heart rebel. Would that breast were bared before thee,
Where thy head so oft hath lain, While that placid sleep came o’er thee
Which thou ne'er canst know again, Would that breast, by thee glanc'd over,
Every inmost thought might show, Then thou wouldst at length discover
'T was not well to spurn it so. But 't is done, all words are idle,
Words from me are vainer still;
Force their way against the will.
Torn from every nearer tie,
More than this, I scarce can die.
TO SIGH YET FEEL NO PAIN.
To weep yet scarce no why;
Then throw it idly by;
Yet lay the heart on none;
But those we just have won;