Tell me I may stay!
Not too near—and yet, my dearest,
Not too far away!”
“What does it mean?” asked Mr. Varney. “It seems to me very obscure.”
“Oh! a song isn't expected to mean anything but melody,” somebody answered rather hastily. “All that is required of the lines is that they should be of the proper length. Sing the other, Bianca—the one I looked over to-day.”
The speaker knew that nothing suited Mr. Varney so well as a genuine love-song.
Bianca sang
“O roses dewy, roses red and sweet!
Tinting with your hues the summer air,
Give my cheeks your blushes, give my mouth your breathing,