Sniffed not, in passing me, the scent of Rome,
Nor heard the music trickling from my tongue.
The milkmaid following, delayed her step,
Still singing as she left the stable-yard:
’Twas “Sheridan’s Ride,” she sang; I turned and wept,
For woman’s homage soothes the suffering bard.
SONG.
Trust not man for he’ll deceive you,
Treach’ry is his sole intent;