Читать книгу Old Ballads - Various - Страница 7

Go, happy Rose! and interwove

  With other flowers, bind my love.

Tell her, too, she must not be

Longer flowing, longer free,

That so oft has fetter'd me.

Say, it she's fretful, I have bands

Of pearl and gold to bind her hands;

  Tell her, if she struggle still,

  I have myrtle rods at will,

  For to tame though not to kill.

Take thou my blessing thus, and go,

And tell her this,—but do not so!

  Lest a handsome anger fly

  Like a lightning from her eye,

  And burn thee up as well as I.