And the landscape is dead where once the heart thrilled

At wildwood and picturesque scenery.

The opera may boast the diva of song,

To me she makes no appeal;

To flute obligato my heart is still dumb,

But oh! for the song and musical hum

Of Ruth and the Old Spinning Wheel!

She lived but a simple, plain rustic life,

Yet charming in sooth was her beauty.

In her untutored heart was love ever rife,

[Pg 19]

The seat of no conflict, no struggle or strife

'Twixt a selfish will and duty.

I bow at her altar of beauty and truth,

At the shrine of her heart do I kneel,

With a prayer no mortal ever lifted above,

Till my soul is atune with the music of love

She sings to the Old Spinning Wheel!

This unlettered maiden was poor, but high-bred,

Oh, women of fashion far above you!

 Prev. P 13/99 next