Literary Gazette, 23rd August 1823, Page 540
II. — SONG.
Oh leal I'll be to thee, my love,
If thou'lt be leal to me;
There's nothing but thy falseness, love,
Can sunder thee and me.
It is not that in doubt I speak,—
Youth and love cannot doubt;
But in the fulness of the heart
Which pours its feelings out.
In trusting and in fondness breathed,
Like prayers we send above,
My faith in heaven is not more sure,
Than my faith in thy love.
You pluck'd one day a flower for me,
Amid the corn it grew;
You said its sigh was like my sigh,
Its blue like my eyes blue.
I’ve kept the flower: it was the first
Gift of your love to me;
I kept it in fond trifling, too,—
I thought such I might be.
When parted from its love, the sun,
The flower sank to decay;
And thus if parted, life, from thee,
I too should pine away.
But these are words of fear, not hope:—
When evening brings not dew,
When June comes without buds or bees,
Then we may prove untrue.
But be thou leal to me, my love,
And I'll be leal to thee;
Oh, there is nothing but falsehood, love,
Can sunder thee and me.[1]
- ↑ Signature after third fragment
