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What is your fortune, my pretty maid?
My face is my fortune, sir, she said;
Then I can't marry you, my pretty maid;
Nobody ask'd you, sir, she said.

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.'

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COULDst thou look as dear as when

First I sigh’d for thee;
Couldst thou make me feel again
Ev'ry wish I breath'd thee then,

Oh! how blissful life would be!
Hopes that now beguiling leave me,

Joys that lie in slumber cold-
All would wake couldst thou but give me

One dear smile, like those of old.
Oh! there's nothing left us now,

But to mourn the past;
Vain was ev'ry ardent vow,
Never yet did Heav'n allow

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.


COME, tell me, blue-eyed stranger,

Say, whither dost thou roam?
O'er this wide world a ranger,

Hast thou no friends or home,
They call me blue-eyed Mary,

When friends and fortune smiled;
But ah! how fortunes vary,

I now am sorrow's child.'
Come here, I'll buy thy flowers,

And ease thy hapless lot,
Still wet with vernal showers,

I'll buy, forget me not.
Kind sir, then take these posies,

They're fading like my youth,
But never, like these roses,

Shall wither Mary's truth.'


poor forsaken,
I'll give thee house and home,
And if I'm not mistaken,

Thou’lt never wish to roam.
• Once more I'm happy Mary,

Once more has fortune smiled;
Who ne'er from virtue vary,

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;
Oh! think not I love dark or fair,

Just as my fancy ranges.
For the love which in my bosom glows,

I swear can wander never;
Within my heart thy image grows,
· And there shall grow forever.
Oh! think not I am idly caught,

By ev'ry passing beauty;
Oh! think not I can e'er be taught,

To swerve, love, froin my duty.
Thy beauteous smiles have won my heart,

I adore thee, though we sever;
I swear, dear girl, although apart,

That I will love thee ever.

Is there a heart that never loved,

Or felt soft woman's sigh?
Is there a man can mark unmoy'd

Dear woman's tearful eye?
Oh! bear him to some distant shore

Or solitary cell,
Where nought but savage monsters roar,

Where love ne'er deign'd to dwell.
For there's a charm in woman's eye,

A language in her tear;
A spell in every sacred sigh,

To man, to virtue dear;
And he who can resist her smiles,

With brutes alone should live,
Nor taste that joy which care beguiles,

That joy her virtues give.


The mountain maid from her bower has hied,
And sped to the glassy river's side,
Where the radiant moon shone clear and bright,
And the willows wav'd in the silver light.
On a mossy bank lay a shepherd swain,
He woke his pipe to a tuneful strain,
And so blithely gay were the notes he play'd,
That he charm’d the ear of the Mountain Maid.
She stopp'd with timid fear oppressid,
While a soft sigh, swells her gentle breast,
He caught her glance, and mark'd her sigh,
And triumph laugh'd in his sparkling eye.
So softly sweet was his tuneful ditty,
He charm'd her tender soul to pity,
And so blithely gay were the notes he play'd,
That he gain'd the heart of the Mountain Maid.

DRINK to me only with thine eyes,

And I will pledge with mine;
Or leave a kiss but in the cup,

And I'll not look for wine.
The thirst that from my soul doth rise

Doth ask a drink divine;
But might I of Jove's nectar sip,

I would not change for thine.
I sent thee late a rosy wreath,

Not so much honoring thee,
As giving it a hope, that there

It would not wither'd be.
But thou thereon didst only breathe,

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;
But the thoughts we cannot bridle

Force their way against the will.
Fare thee well, thus disunited,

Torn from every nearer tie,
Seared in heart, and lone, and bligthed,

More than this, I scarce can die.

To sigh yet feel no pain;

To weep yet scarce no why;
To sport an hour with beauty's chain,

Then throw it idly by;
To kneel at many a shrine,

Yet lay the heart on none;
To think all other charms divine,

But those we just have won;

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