May not thy husband go out with a friend?

Thou art the false one, and he is the true—

Fretful and idle, unworthy thy king!

Hast thou not anything useful to do,

Thou good-for-nothing and cross little thing?

[pg 67]

Scolding myself, I spring up from my chair,

Calling out loud that the time is not long;

March down the room with a resolute air,

Seize my guitar, and burst out into song!

Poor little girl, sitting singing alone,

Pretty guitar round a slender neck hung,

Smiles on thy lips, but a sad little moan,

Deep in a heart that is foolish and young.

Song.

To one whose footsteps fall

Upon a mountain's height,

Earth must seem very small,

And heaven infinite.

[pg 68]

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