SONGS FOR THE SENTIMENTAL.—NO. 7.
Fair Daphne has tresses as bright as the hue
That illumines the west when a summer-day closes;
Her eyes seem like violets laden with dew,
Her lips will compare with the sweetest of roses.
By Daphne’s decree I am doom’d to despair,
Though ofttimes I’ve pray’d the fair maid to revoke it.
“No—Colin I love”—(thus will Daphne declare)
“Put that in your pipe, if you will, sir, and smoke it.”
Once I thought that she loved me (O! fatal deceit),
For she wore at the dance the gay wreath I had twined her;
She smiled when I swore that I envied each sweet,
And vow’d that in love’s rosy chains I would bind her.
I press’d her soft hand, and a blush dyed her cheek;
“Oh! there’s love,” I exclaim’d, “in that eye’s liquid glancing.”
She spoke, and I think I can still hear her speak—
“You know about love what a pig knows of dancing!”