THE LADY'S PAGE.
I
I'll hang up my harp on a willow tree,
And I'll go to the wars again;
For a peaceful home has no charm for me,
And a battle-field no pain;
The Lady I serve will soon be a bride,
With a diadem on her brow;
Ah! why did she flatter my boyish pride?
She is going to leave me now.
II
She took me away from a warlike Lord,
And she gave me a silken suit;
And I thought no more of my Master's sword,
When I danced to my Lady's lute;
And she seemed to think me a Boy above
Her pages of low degree:
Oh had I but loved with a boyish love,
It would have been well for me.
III
In my breast I will hide my selfish care,
I will flush my pale cheek with wine;
And when smiles shall welcome the Bridal pair,
I will hasten to give them mine.
I will laugh and sing, though my heart may bleed,
I will dance to the Bridal train;
And if I survive it, I'll mount my steed,
And I'll rush to the wars again.