The Peasant and his Wife.
HE.
The long, long day, again has pass'd
In sorrow and distress:
I strive my best—but strive in vain,
I labour hard—but still remain
Poor, and in wretchedness.
SHE.
Nay, we have health—you love your wife—
And she returns its flame;
Want still is absent from our cot,
God gives us breath to sooth our lot,
What more can you desire?
HE.
I wish'd to earn a little sum,
My dearest wife for thee;
I wish'd, by toiling day and night,
To gain some wealth that might requite
Thy fond fidelity.
SHE.
No wealth repays fidelity,
Nor gold nor monarch's crown;
My heart which doth to thee incline,
Finds all its love repaid by thine,
And smiles at Fortune's frown.