84. That was a dark young gypsy.
85. Ah, Rosalie, my lovely one!
86. Blood-coloured is the lovely rose.
87. Who roses picks his finger pricks
No matter what befall;
In winter-time he finds them gone
And gets no rose at all.
Our petting and caressing here,
Our joy or misery
It all shall rest sub rosa, love,
And our own secret be!
88. "Thou'rt right, my darling son."
89. "Good-bye, my friend, my Frederick!"
90. Woppenshield, coat of arms.
Here ends the Project Gutenberg edition of
Charles G. Leland's "The Breitmann Ballads"