THE SAME OLD STORY

The same old story told again —

The maiden droops her head,

The ripening glow of her crimson cheek

Is answering in her stead.

The pleading tone of a trembling voice

Is telling her the way

He loved her when his heart was young

In Youth's sunshiny day:

The trembling tongue, the longing tone,

Imploringly ask why

They can not be as happy now

As in the days gone by.

And two more hearts, tumultuous

With overflowing joy,

Are dancing to the music

Which that dear, provoking boy

Is twanging on his bowstring,

As, fluttering his wings,

He sends his love-charged arrows

While merrily be sings:

“Ho! ho! my dainty maiden,

It surely can not be

You are thinking you are master

Of your heart, when it is me.”

And another gleaming arrow

Does the little god's behest,

And the dainty little maiden

Falls upon her lover's breast.

“The same old story told again,”

And listened o'er and o'er,

Will still be new, and pleasing, too,

Till “Time shall be no more.”