She fairer grew, till Love became
In me a very ardent flame,
With Faith to fan it:
Alas, I played the fool, and she ...
The fault of both lay much with me,
But more with Janet.
For Janet chose a cruel part,—
How many win a tender heart
And then trepan it!
She left my bark to swim or sink,
Nor seemed to care—and yet, I think,
You liked me, Janet.
The old old tale! you know the rest—
The heart that slumbered in her breast
Was soft as granite:
Who breaks a heart, and then omits
To gather up its broken bits,
Is heartless, Janet.
I'm wiser now—for when I curse
My Fate, a voice cries, "Bad or worse
You must not ban it:
Take comfort, you are quits, for if
You mourn a Love, stark dead and stiff,
Why so does Janet."
BÉRANGER.
Cast adrift on this sphere
Where my fellows were born,
None gave me a tear,
I was weakly—forlorn.
My plaint for their spurning
To heaven took wing,—
Sweet voices said, yearning,
"Sing, Little One, sing!"
My lot, as I rove,
Is to sing for the throng;—
And will not they love
The poor Child for his song?