OH! ASK ME NOT TO BE YOUR BRIDE.
I
Oh! ask me not to be your bride;
Oh! do not call me fair;
For I have thrown the wreath aside
I once was proud to wear.
And do not gaze upon my cheek,
It hath no charms for thee,
Tho' I am young, 'tis vain to seek
The charms of youth in me.
II
And yet I think I must have been
As gay as those I meet:
For I remember to have seen
Young lovers at my feet.
And they were blythe and merry men,
And loved a merry eye;
Ah! sure I was like others then,
But no, 'tis all gone by.
III
One came at last who was my choice,
He perished on the sea;
Still, still I hear the hateful voice
That told the tale to me.
Then ask me not to be your bride,
Oh! do not call me fair,
For I have thrown the wreath aside
I once was proud to wear.
