II.
It is the lute that sings,
Not I! not I!
Methinks some sleeping heart
That once had felt Love’s smart
Doth wake and cry!
Nay, hark! ’tis love’s own wings
That fan the trembling strings—
Not I! Not I!
But dainty as is this little song, it does not to my mind equal in charm the duet of the two old lovers in the same opera.