“O, how can a poor gypsy maiden like me
Ever hope the proud bride of a noble to be?
To some bright-jeweled beauty thy bows will be paid,
And thou wilt forget her, the poor gypsy maid.”
“Away with that thought! I am free, I am free
To devote all the love of my spirit to thee;
Young rose of the wilderness, blushing and sweet!
All my heart, all my fortune, I lay at thy feet,
By you bright moon above, that can change like man’s love!
Be the sun’s constant ray that night’s tears chase away!”
“O!, never by thee wilt by trust be betrayed,
Thou wilt love me forever, thine own gypsy maid,
Go, flatterer, go! I’ll not trust to thy art;
Go, leave me and trifle no more with my heart!
Go, leave me to die in my own native shade,
And, betray not the heart of the poor gypsy maid.”
“I have lands and proud dwellings, and all shall be thine;
A coronet, Zillah, that brow shall entwine,
Thou shalt never have reason my faith to upbraid,
For a countess I’ll make thee, my own gypsy maid.”
“Then fly with me now”
“Shall I trust to thy vows?”
“O, yes! come away!”
“Wilt thou never betray?”
“O, never by me shall thy trust be betrayed,
I will love thee forevermore, mine own gypsy maid.”
Sent in by Mrs E.S.T.S.