MARGARITA.

GENTLE maiden, wandering ever
By the winding Guadalquivir,

Light as the feather which the wind

Waves o'er thy smooth and placid brow;

What thought is passing o'er thy mind,

To leave a moment's shadow now,

Gentle Margarita?

'Tis not of grief, 'tis not of care—

In these thy gay soul hath no share

No gloom can long endure to be

Where those are whom the world caress;

If aught of sadness visit thee,

"Tis sadness born of joy's excess,

Pensive Margarita !

Thy joy of heart will come again,

Like sunshine to thy native Spain,

When clouds have faded from her sky;

Then by the clear and tranquil river,

Thy step as free, thy hopes as high,

Go, hail thy own dear Guadalquivir,

Merry Margarita !