I think you would journey many and many a day, Ere you so contented and blest a bird would see; Not all the wealth of the world could lure my love away, For my brown little nest is all the world to me; And care not I if brighter bowers there are Lying close to the sun--where tall palms pierce the sky; Oh, you would journey a weary way and a far, Ere you would behold a bird so blest as I; And singing close to my side is my mate--my kin--my lover; Oh, the days are long, and the days are bright--and Summer will last forever. * * * * * AUTUMN. Yes! yes! I dare say it is so, And you should be pitied, but how could I know, Watching alone by the moon-lit bay; But that is past for many a day, For the woman that loved, died years ago, Years ago. She had loving eyes, with a wistful look In their depths that day, and I know you took Her face in your hands and read it o'er, As if you should never see it more; You were right, for she died long years ago, Years ago. Had I trusted you--for trust, you know Will keep love's fire forever aglow; Then what would have mattered storm or sun, But the watching--the waiting, all is done; For the woman that loved, died years ago, Years ago. Yes; I think you are constant, true and good, I am tired, and would love you if I could; I am tired, oh, friend, tired out; and yet, Can we make sweet morn of the dim sunset? The woman that loved, died years ago, Years ago. Not a pulse of my heart is stirred by you, No; even your tears cannot move me now; So leave me alone, what is said is said, What boots your prayers, she is dead! is dead! The woman you loved, long years ago, Years ago. AUTUMN SONG OF THE SWALLOW. The sky is dark and the air is full of snow, I go to a warmer clime afar and away; Though my heart is so tired I do not care for it now, But here in my empty nest I cannot stay; Thus cried the swallow, I go from the falling snow, oh, follow me--oh, follow. One night my mate came home with a broken wing, So he died; and my brood went long ago; And I am alone, and I have no heart to sing, With no one to hear my song, and I must go; Thus cried the swallow, Away from dust and decay, oh, follow me--oh, follow. But I think I will never find so warm and safe a nest, As my home, in the pleasant days gone by, gone by, I think I shall never fold my wings in such happy rest, Never again--oh, never again till I die; Thus cried the swallow, But I go from the falling snow, oh, follow me--oh, follow. THE COQUETTE. How can I be to blame? Is it my fault I am fair? I did not fashion my features, Or brush the gold in my hair; Because my eyes are so blue and bright, Must I never look up from the ground, But put out with my eyelids' snow their light, Lest some foolish heart they should wound?