MARGERY'S ROOM.

MARGERY [at the spinning-wheel alone]. My heart is heavy, My peace is o'er; I never—ah! never— Shall find it more. While him I crave, Each place is the grave, The world is all Turned into gall. My wretched brain Has lost its wits, My wretched sense Is all in bits. My heart is heavy, My peace is o'er; I never—ah! never— Shall find it more. Him only to greet, I The street look down, Him only to meet, I Roam through town. His lofty step, His noble height, His smile of sweetness, His eye of might, His words of magic, Breathing bliss, His hand's warm pressure And ah! his kiss. My heart is heavy, My peace is o'er, I never—ah! never— Shall find it more. My bosom yearns To behold him again. Ah, could I find him That best of men! I'd tell him then How I did miss him, And kiss him As much as I could, Die on his kisses I surely should!