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A Song

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I

No riches from his scanty store
My lover could impart;
He gave a boon I valued more —
He gave me all his heart!

II

His soul sincere, his generous worth,
Might well this bosom move;
And when I asked for bliss on earth,
I only meant his love.

III

But now for me, in search of gain
From shore to shore he flies;
Why wander riches to obtain,
When love is all I prize?

IV

The frugal meal, the lowly cot
If blest my love with thee!
That simple fare, that humble lot,
Were more than wealth to me.

V

While he the dangerous ocean braves,
My tears but vainly flow:
Is pity in the faithless waves
To which I pour my woe?

VI

The night is dark, the waters deep,
Yet soft the billows roll;
Alas! at every breeze I weep —
The storm is in my soul.


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A Song

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