The Melodist/The Village Maid

by Anonymous

The Village Maid.

I would not change for cups of gold
This little cup that you behold
'Tis from the beech that gave a shade,
At noon-day, to my Village-Maid.

I would not change for Persian loom,
This humble matting of my room;
'Tis of those very, rushes twin'd,
Oft press'd by charming Rosalind.

I would not change my lovely wicket.
That opens in her fav'rite thicket,
For portals proud, or tow'rs that frown,
The monuments of old renown.

I would not change this foolish heart.
That learns from her to joy or smart,
For his that burns with love of glory,
And loses life to live in story.

Yet in themselves, my heart, my cote,
My mote, my bowl, I value not,
But only as they, one and all,
My lovely Rosalind recal.