A Song

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.