THE GIPSY'S HOME.
Oh! who is so blythe, and happy, and free
As the ever-wandering Zingaree?
'Tis his at his own wild will to roam;
And in each fair scene does he find a home,—
Does he find a home!
The sunny slope, or the shady grove,
Where nightingales sing and lovers rove;
The fields where the golden harvests wave,
And the verdant bank which the streamlets lave,
Are by turns his home.
The busy town with its selfish crowd,
The city where dwell the great and proud,
The haunts of the mighty multitude,
Where the strong are raised and the weak subdued,
Are to him no home.
Oh! ever happy—and ever free,
Who is so blest as the Zingaree?—
Where nature puts on her gayest vest,
Where flowers are sweetest and fruits are best,
Oh! there is his home.
"Thank you, sweet Eva," said the king, when the gipsy woman had concluded her song, in the chorus of which the other females had joined in a low and subdued tone. "Ours is indeed a happy life," continued Zingary. "When roving over the broad country, we enjoy a freedom unknown to the rest of the world. No impost or taxes have we then to pay: we drink of the stream at pleasure, and never feel alarmed lest our water should be cut off. We can choose pleasant paths, and yet pay no paving-rate. The sun lights us by day, and the stars by night; and no one comes to remind us that we owe two quarters' gas. We pitch our tents where we will, but are not afraid of a ground-landlord. We do not look forward with fear and trembling to Lady-day or Michaelmas, for the broker cannot distress us. We move where we like, without dreading an accusation of shooting the moon. In fine, we are as free and independent as the inhabitants of the desert. A health, then, to the united races of Zingarees!"
This toast was drunk in silence, like the former; and the king then called upon the pretty dark-eyed daughter of one of the chiefs to favour the company with a song.
The request was complied with in the following manner:—
"COME HITHER, FAIR MAIDEN."
Come hither, fair maiden! and listen to me,
I've a store of good tidings to tell unto thee—
Bright hopes to call smiles to those sweet lips of thine,
And visions of bliss little short of divine.