Blind wench ! thou'rt shy, but right or wrong
I'll greet thee with a hearty song ;
If e'er thy smile I should enjoy,
In fun and frolic, I'll employ
The vagrant hours of hasty flight,
And dip their wings in rich delight—
And mirth and song where'er I stray,
Shall be companions of my way.

Thou'rt fickle called, but yet thy frown
Has constantly to me been shown ;
Tis still thy will, with spiteful ire,
To shroud in night my rustic lyre—
Its simple strain, the little great,
With silent scorn may ever treat—
Yet mirth and song where'er I sti-ay,
Shall be companions of my way.

I lay me on the desert shore,
Pleased with the breakers' sullen roar,
Or, raptured, climb the giddy steep
Which overhangs the stormy deep ;
And mark the vivid lightning's flight,
Careering round the brow of night ;
Yet mirth and song where'er I stray
Are still companions of my way.

I seek the peaceful woodland bower,
And smile or sigh o'er every flower ;
I watch the wild dove wandering.
Through the blue sky, on sportive wing ;
Lull'd by thy music, murmuring Dart,
I sing the o'er flowings of my heart—
And mirth and song where'er I stray,
Are still companions of my way.

Like that fond harp which makes reply.
To playful Zephyr's gentlest sigh;
As every wanton breeze of thought
O'er my pleas'd mind is lightly brought,
A thrilling joy ; an impulse strong,
Still stirs ray lips with careless song—
And mirth and song where'er I stray,
Are still companions of my way.

Delights like these thou canst not foil,
Tis not for thee nor thine I toil ;
Thy abject slaves may think me raving.
Old girl—thy gifts are not worth having,
If bought but by one particle,
Of feeling or of principle—
So mirth and song where'er I stray,
Shall be companions of my way.