Thou'st stolen the rose's hue,
Thou'st stolen each flow'ret's beauties bright,
And stolen my poor heart too.
'Well, little rogue, come help yourself,
Your robberies repeat,
And take the rest of the poor elf
Who's sighing at your feet.'
"'He accuses you of felony,' said I. 'Oh, Rosabel! why did you, after having perpetrated so many larcenies among the flower-beds, steal the poor little man's heart?'
"'What would I want with his heart?' said Rosabel, pouting.
"'He tells you to keep it, and makes an offer of himself. He offers you Bliss.'