The young people roared with laughter at such an unexpected method, and the rest of the company also laughed. And the songstress herself could not refrain from joining; but, suppressing her merriment, she continued, twice as squeaky as before:—
"Moans the dark blue little pigeon,[1]
Moans all day and moans all night
For his sweetheart—"
But at this word her voice really trembled and choked. "It doesn't go, and it's just as well that it doesn't go. But if this doesn't go, something else will—something better? Listen, children, to your mother's advice: Don't fall in love, and know that you have no right to marry."
Then she sang in a strong, full contralto:—
"In our towns, a host of beauties are;
In each twilight eye there shines a star.
Happy fate regards them all sincerely,
But—
"This but is stupid, children, —
But the brave young fellow loves too dearly.
There's no sense in that,—its perfect nonsense,—but you, why,—
Do not wed her, gallant youth;
Hear my warning words.[2]
"Still more nonsense, children, and maybe this is also nonsense. You can fall in love, you can wed, but it must be only through choice, and without deceiving yourselves, children. I am going to sing to you how I married. It is an old romance, but I am also old. I am sitting on the balcony of our castle, Dalton, for I am Scotch; I am beautiful and pale. Further down is the forest and the river Bringal. To the balcony slowly, stealthily, comes my lover; he is poor, and I am rich; I am the daughter of a baron and a lord, but I love him dearly, and I am singing to him,—
How beauteous Bringal's rugged shore.
Its forests green and tall!
My love and I, we love it more—
