This page has been validated.
8
No more gather'd wild flowers, and lillies and roses,
Nor cry'd thro' the village, 'Come buy my, sweet posies.'
Is there a heart that never lov'd
Is there a heart that never lov'd,
Nor felt soft woman's sigh?
Is there a man can mark, unmov'd,
Dear woman's tearful eye?
Oh! beat him to some distant shore,
Or solitary cell,
Where nought but savage monsters roar,
Where love ne'er deigned to dwell.
For there's a charm in woman's eye,
A language in her tear,
A spell in every sacred sigh,
To man—to virtue dear.
And he who can resist her smiles,
With brutes one should live,
Nor taste that-joy which care beguiles—
That joy her virtues give.
FINIS.
