SONGS OF THE SEEDY.—NO. 2.
I cannot rove with thee, where zephyrs float—
Sweet sylvan scenes devoted to the loves!—
For, oh! I have not got one decent coat,
Nor can I sport a single pair of gloves.
Gladly I’d wander o’er the verdant lawn,
Where graze contentedly the fleecy flock;
But can I show myself in gills so torn,
Or brave the public gaze in such a stock?
I know thou’lt answer me that love is blind,
And faults in one it worships can’t perceive;
It must be sightless, truly, not to find
The hole that’s gaping in my threadbare sleeve.
Farewell, my love—for, oh! by heaven, we part,
And though it cost me all the pangs of hell.
The herd shall not on thee inflict a smart,
By calling after us—“There goes a swell!”