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