"To die for thee, my love, is sweet; O'er yon bright star soon let us meet, And hear me, ere the waters blot But gently from his sinking hand She raised it thence, and weeping pressed In woe that mocked controlling. Then turning from her lover's grave, Has been that small blue flower. WHAT SHALL I DO?" BY J. S. A. "O, WHAT shall I do?" said Rosell, with a sigh, With a smile on her lip, and a tear in her eye; "For, lo, he hath sent for my miniature now, And soon he will send for the pearls on my brow; Then he will want that which no one has got Save myself- what is it? what. Ah, you must guess "Here is his letter- 'tis really provoking; a kiss. And, O, what a flatterer! I can't understand 6 6 Why he should call mine a lily-white hand.' |