SONGS FOR THE SENTIMENTAL, NO. 3.
I am thine in my gladness,
I’m thine in thy tears;
My love it can change not
With absence or years.
Were a dungeon thy dwelling,
My home it should be,
For its gloom would be sunshine
If I were with thee.
But the light has no beauty
Of thee, love bereft:
I am thine, and thine only!
Thine!—over the left!
Over the left!
As the wild Arab hails,
On his desolate way,
The palm-tree which tells
Where the cool fountains play,
So thy presence is ever
The herald of bliss,
For there’s love in thy smile,
And there’s joy in thy kiss.
Thou hast won me—then wear me!
Of thee, love, bereft,
I should fade like a flower,
Yes!—over the left!
Over the left!
A gentleman in Mobile has a watch that goes so fast, he is obliged to calculate a week back to know the time of day.
A new bass singer has lately appeared at New Orleans, who sings so remarkably deep, it takes nine Kentucky lawyers to understand a single bar!