THE FILIPINO MAIDEN

Her father we've chased in the jungle,

And her brother is full of our lead;

Her uncles and cousins

In yellow half-dozens

We've tried to induce to be dead;

And while we have shot at their shadows,

They've done the same favor for us—

But, by George, she's so sweet

That we'd rather be beat

Than to have her mixed up in the fuss.

Oh! isn't her blush like the roses?

And aren't her eyes like the stars?

And whenever she smiles

Don't you think you are miles

From the rattle and roar of the wars?

Would you take the three stars of a general

If she'd say “Leave the stars and take me?”

Oh! we've stolen sweet kisses from thousands of misses,

But hers are the sweetest that be.

Her name may be Ahlo or Nina,

Or Zanez or Lalamaloo;

She may smoke the cigars

Of the chino bazars,

And prefer black maduros to you;

She may speak a wild six-cornered lingo,

And say that your Spanish is queer,

But you'll never mind this

When she gives you a kiss

And calls you her “zolshier poy dear.”