And the game that by chance we take
From some neighbouring hind's barn door!
Yet, 'tis I am the Gipsy Queen!

'Tis true I must ply my art,
And share in my subjects' toils;
But of all their gains I've part,
I've the choice of all their spoils;
And, by love and duty led,
Ere from my jet black eye
One sad tear should be shed,
A thousand hearts would die!
For, 'tis I am the Gipsy Queen!

* * * * *

A SONG OF PITCAIRN'S ISLAND.

Come, take our boy, and we will go
Before our cabin door;
The winds shall bring us, as they blow,
The murmurs of the shore;
And we will kiss his young blue eyes,
And I will sing him as he lies,
Songs that were made of yore:
I'll sing, in his delighted ear,
The island-lays thou lov'st to hear.

And thou, while stammering I repeat,
Thy country's tongue shalt teach;