BENT o'er his sabre, torrents starting 
From his dim eyes, the bold hussar 
Thus greets his cherish'd maid, while parting 
 For distant fields of war: 

'Weep not, my fair one! O forbear thee! 
No anguish can those tears remove; 
For, by my troth and beard, I swear thee, 
 Time shall not change my love. 

'That love shall bloom? a deathless blossom, 
My shield in fight? with sword in hand, 
And thou, my Lila, in my bosom, 
 What shall that sword withstand? 

'Weep not, my fair one! O forbear thee! 
Those tears can bid no grief depart; 
And were I faithless, Maid! I swear thee, 
 Anguish would tear my heart! 

'Then my good steed would sure betray me, 
And falter in the battle-fray, 
In peril's hours refuse t' obey me? 
 My stirrup would give way. 

'The sword, my valour's proudest token, 
When grasp'd, like rotten wood would break; 
And I should seek thee, spirit-broken, 
 Death's paleness on my cheek.' 

But the false horseman's steed obey'd him, 
Gentle and eager still;? his sword, 
Bright and unbroken, ne'er betray'd him, 
 Though he broke oath and word. 

The tale of love? the tears which shower'd 
From Lila's eye? were all forgot; 
The rose-wreath faded? pale? deflower'd:? 
 Such buds re-blossom not! 

That maiden's breast of peace he rifles; 
Then hies him to another's breast; 
Man's oaths to woman are but? trifles; 
 And love itself? a jest. 

He serves? secures? and then he slights them; 
His vows are change? and treachery; 
For laughing Cupid's arrow writes them 
 Upon the shifting sea.