They are the daily events of our lives, we note them with idle indifference.
The lover kisses his dear one, she sighs on his throbbing bosom,
He springs on his waiting horse, and waving his hand at parting,
Thinks that the morrow for certain, will bring her again to his kisses,
Alas! he knows not that Fate is capricious!
That never again will the dear one respond to his welcome caresses!
"Good-bye for an hour!" ah, sorrow. That good-bye means "farewell for ever."
And yet they know not this future, and so, parting happy,
Go east and west gladly, to anguish apart till they perish.
"Quiere a fumar, Juan," said Dolores, holding out a small case to Jack, with a coquettish smile.