THE DARK-EYED BRUNETTE.
I
Remember, at Florence, the dark-eyed Brunette,
With her song, and guitar, and her ringlets of jet,
How she danc'd to the measure of Italy's lay,
And changing it ever, now pensive, now gay.
Oh! rove where you will, you must never forget
The Florentine beauty, the dark-eyed Brunette.
II
When I build my love-bower I'll build it at home.
From England's fair daughters I wish not to roam;
For all that I've seen far away o'er the sea
Endears the pure rose of my country to me.
Yet still, t'were ingratitude, quite to forget
The Florentine beauty, the dark-eyed Brunette.
