I hear my name upon your lips;

What is it that you say

Of one who broke a trusting heart,

But now is far away?

 The Mother.

I weep for you, my pretty lass,

Frail flower of love unblessed,

Because I can not always hold

You close unto my breast;

I weep that you some day must go

Alone your way to find,

For, oh, you have your mother's eyes,

And men are seldom kind!

[52]

[52]

FORGIVEN.

I might have met his anger with a smile

For so it was that I had set my heart

To mask deception with a wanton's guile,

And save the tears that now begin to start.

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