A Song

No riches from his scanty store
My lover could impart;
He gave a boon I valued more--
He gave me all his heart!

His soul sincere, his gen'rous worth,
Might well this bosom move;
And when I ask'd for bliss on earth,
I only meant his love.

But now for me, in search of gain
From shore to shore he flies:
Why wander riches to obtain,
When love is all I prize?

The frugal meal, the lowly cot
If blest my love with thee!
That simple fare, that humble lot,
Were more than wealth to me.

While he the dang'rous ocean braves,
My tears but vainly flow:
Is pity in the faithless waves
To which I pour my woe?

The night is dark, the waters deep,
Yet soft the billows roll;
Alas! at every breeze I weep--
The storm is in my soul.