 | Songs and ballads by Samuel Lover |  |
THEY SAY MY SONGS ARE ALL THE SAME.
They say my songs are all the same,
Because I only sing of thee:
Then be it so—and let them blame—
Such thoughts are dearer far to me
Than all the voice of Fame!
Let plaudits ring and fame reply,
Ah, sweeter far thy gentle sigh!
Let critics frown—I laugh the while—
What critic's frown is worth thy smile?
They say, &c., &c.
Because I only sing of thee:
Then be it so—and let them blame—
Such thoughts are dearer far to me
Than all the voice of Fame!
Let plaudits ring and fame reply,
Ah, sweeter far thy gentle sigh!
Let critics frown—I laugh the while—
What critic's frown is worth thy smile?
They say, &c., &c.
Poor critic!—had'st thou but the chance
To win my Stella's dazzling glance
When votive wreath of song I twine,
To lay on love's immortal shrine,
Could'st thou but see the mantling blush
Rewarding passion's lay,
Thou would's not bid me nay—
Then, loveless critic, hush!
They say, &c., &c.
To win my Stella's dazzling glance
When votive wreath of song I twine,
To lay on love's immortal shrine,
Could'st thou but see the mantling blush
Rewarding passion's lay,
Thou would's not bid me nay—
Then, loveless critic, hush!
They say, &c., &c.
66
Go, blame the rose's lovely hue,
Blame the bright sky for being blue,
Blame time when made of happiest hours,
Blame perfume shed from sweetest flowers,
And then blame me for being fond
Of something, all these sweets beyond!
Then be my songs still all the same,
For I will always sing of thee:
Thus be it so—and let them blame—
Such thoughts are dearer far to me
Than all the voice of fame!
Blame the bright sky for being blue,
Blame time when made of happiest hours,
Blame perfume shed from sweetest flowers,
And then blame me for being fond
Of something, all these sweets beyond!
Then be my songs still all the same,
For I will always sing of thee:
Thus be it so—and let them blame—
Such thoughts are dearer far to me
Than all the voice of fame!
| Songs and ballads by Samuel Lover | |