28
SONGS IN MINOR KEYS.
"A very queen!" you'd say, I ween;
But a wanton she is, at best,
Without the passion that prompts to sin;
But with the devilish power to win
From man the love that should make him blest.
But a wanton she is, at best,
Without the passion that prompts to sin;
But with the devilish power to win
From man the love that should make him blest.
Ah! strange it seems; but in my dreams—
'Twas, perhaps, in the days of old—
I have seen that face with its cold, proud eyes,
And the marble brow, and the cheeks' faint dyes,
And the brown hair backward rolled.
'Twas, perhaps, in the days of old—
I have seen that face with its cold, proud eyes,
And the marble brow, and the cheeks' faint dyes,
And the brown hair backward rolled.
Let the Devil sleep; let his demons weep
And wail o'er his senseless clay;
For that woman shall sit on the throne of Hell—
Oh! she'll manage its politics well—right well—
But the maggot, Remorse, will have his pay!
And wail o'er his senseless clay;
For that woman shall sit on the throne of Hell—
Oh! she'll manage its politics well—right well—
But the maggot, Remorse, will have his pay!
