Songs, Ballads, and Other Poems by the late Thomas Haynes Bayly; Edited by his Widow. With A Memoir of the Author. In Two Volumes |
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 | Songs, Ballads, and Other Poems |  |
59
V. MY OWN BLUE BELL! MY PRETTY BLUE BELL!
My own Blue Bell! my pretty Blue Bell!
I never will rove where Roses dwell:
My wings you view of your own bright hue,
And oh! never doubt that my heart's true blue!
Though oft I own, I have foolishly flown
To peep at each bud that was newly blown;
I now have done with folly and fun,
For there's nothing like constancy under the sun,
My own Blue Bell! my pretty Blue Bell!
I never will rove where Roses dwell:
My wings you view of your own bright hue,
And oh! never doubt that my heart's true blue!
I never will rove where Roses dwell:
My wings you view of your own bright hue,
And oh! never doubt that my heart's true blue!
Though oft I own, I have foolishly flown
To peep at each bud that was newly blown;
I now have done with folly and fun,
For there's nothing like constancy under the sun,
My own Blue Bell! my pretty Blue Bell!
I never will rove where Roses dwell:
My wings you view of your own bright hue,
And oh! never doubt that my heart's true blue!
Some Belles are Blues, invoking the muse,
And talking of vast intellectual views;
Their crow-quill's tip in the ink they dip,
And they prate with the lore of a learned lip:
Blue bells like these may be wise as they please,
But I love my own Blue Bell that bends in the breeze:
Pride passes her by—but she charms my eye
With a tint, that resembles the cloudless sky.
My own Blue Bell! my pretty Blue Bell!
I never will rove where Roses dwell:
My wings you view of your own bright hue,
And oh! never doubt that my heart's true blue!
And talking of vast intellectual views;
Their crow-quill's tip in the ink they dip,
And they prate with the lore of a learned lip:
Blue bells like these may be wise as they please,
But I love my own Blue Bell that bends in the breeze:
Pride passes her by—but she charms my eye
With a tint, that resembles the cloudless sky.
My own Blue Bell! my pretty Blue Bell!
I never will rove where Roses dwell:
My wings you view of your own bright hue,
And oh! never doubt that my heart's true blue!
| Songs, Ballads, and Other Poems | |