The Peasant’s Song.

O say not man’s faith is a flower, love,1
That lives but a day, and is past ;2
A star which gives light but an hour, love,3
A sky that is soon overcast :4
There may be such men, it is true, love,5
And ladies, perhaps, much the same ;6
But these—are these like me and you, love ?7
Oh, no !— our love’s more than a name.8
I know that thy beauty may gain, love,9
The wealthiest lord of the isle ;10
I know he hath sued, and in vain, love,11
To win the sweet bliss of thy smile.12
For me—that reward wilt thou keep, love,13
For me—to adore whilst I live !—14
When I think of thy truth, I could weep, love,15
To find I’ve so little to give !16
Yet amidst splendid banquets and show, love,17
Gay dances with roses and light ;18
A thou never couldst know, love,19
So fond as I plight thee to-night !20
The soul of a husband is lost, love,21
In pleasure’s enchanting career ;22
And, oh ! thou might’st find to thy cost, love,23
That riches bring many a tear !24
My cottage, though small, is my own, love,25
’Tis shaded by woodbine and tree ;26
I wish for thy sake ’twere a throne, love,27
O proudly I’d share it with thee !—28
Tis humble, yet not very poor, love,29
And wouldst thou but yield thy consent,30
Thou wilt feel—if thou lovest me—I’m sure, love,31
The gold of the earth—is content.32