GYPSY.
I sing of a maid's repented fears,
And long and bitter yearning;
Her levity changed to truth and tears
All-burning.
She dreads no more the threats of her mother,
She dreads far less the blows of her brother,
Than the dearly-loved one's hatred.
YOUTH.
Of selfishness sing, and treacherous lies,
Of murder and thievish plunder!
Such actions false will cause no surprise,
Or wonder.
When they share their booty, both clothes and purse,—
As bad as you gypsies, and even worse,
Such tales find ready credence.
GYPSY.
"Alas, alas! oh, what have I done?
Can listening aught avail me?
I hear him toward my room hasten on,
To hail me.
My heart beat high, to myself I said:
"O would that thou hadst never betrayed
That night of love to thy mother!'"
YOUTH.
Alas! I foolishly ventured there.
For the cheating silence misled me,
Ah, sweetest! let me to thee repair,—
Nor dread me!
When suddenly rose a fearful din,
Her mad relations came pouring in.
My blood still boils in my body!
