O blush that marks the sweet disgrace of kisses!
The fiddler comes, his heart a merry store,
And shouts of welcome greet him at the door.
Tho' fashioned rough and rude the jest he flings,
What power has he to wake the tuneful strings!
The old folks smile and tell how, long ago,
Their feet obeyed the swaying of his bow,
And how the God-sent magic of his art
To thoughts of love inclined the youthful heart,
And shook the bonds of care from aged men