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The Spanish maid is no coquette,
Nor joys to see a lover tremble ; And if she love, or if she hate.
Alike she knows not to dissemble. Her heart can ac'er be bought or sold,
Howe'er it beats, it beats sincerely ; And, tho' it will not bend to gold,
*Twill love you long and love you dearly. The Spanish girl that meets your love
Nc'er taunts you with a mock denial ; For every thought is bent to prove
Her passion in the hour of trial. When thronging foemen menace Spain
She dares the deed and shares the danger ; And should her lover press the plain
She hurls the spear, her love's avenger.
And when beneath the evening star,
She mingles in the gay Bolero ; Or sings to her attuned guitar
Of Christian knight or Moorish hero ; Or counts her beads with fairy hand
Beneath the twinkling rays of Hesper ; Or joins devotion's choral band
To chant the sweet and hallowed vesper ;
In cach her charms the heart must move
Of all who venture to behold her :
Then let not maids less fair reprove,
Because her bosom is not colder ; Thro' many a clime 'tis mine to roam
Where many a soft and melting maid is, But none abroad, and few at home,
May match the dark-eyed girl of Cadiz.
THE TIME I'VE LOST IN WOOING
HE time I've lost in wooing,
The light that lies
In woman's eyes,
Tho' Wisdom oft has sought me
My only books
Were woman's looks,
Her smile when Beauty granted,
Like him the Sprite
Whom maids by night Oft meet in glen that's haunted, Like him, too, Beauty won me ;
If once their ray
Was turned away,
And are those follies going?
Too cold or wise
Again to set it glowing?
Poor wisdom's chance
Against a glance