Time and place,--love and life in the balance, Fear and hope in the glance of your eye. Draw your blade! Forget not we are gallants Who can laugh at our fate as we die.
On your guard! There'll be blood on the metal Ere she wakes from her innocent dreams; There's a long list of kisses to settle, And some love sighs and death sighs, it seems. Bare your arm! Strike for life and the maiden! Take that! You are cautious, I fear Speed the blow,--'tis with happiness laden For him who does not remain here
That and that! I am wounded,--it's over Those kisses were destined for you; But now she is yours and you love her, Go tell her that I loved her too
Is it dew on the rose? 'T is the same that I gave him Last night when I chose To warn him and save him;
That he pinned on his breast With a smile at his danger, And a smile, not in jest, That was sweeter and stranger
Here are footprints of foes! Oh, my heart!--I can feel It is blood on the rose And a sliver of steel.
I strolled the streets in quest of any love, In old Madrid long centuries ago; I caught the perfume of a scented glove, I saw a sweet face in a portico.
She laughed--then paled. She leaned out; whispered, "Fly!" And then I felt the sting of steel, the hiss Of curses in my ear, and knew that I Had forfeited my life--and lost a kiss.
Ten paces--one, two, three, and fire! Two gallants have their heart's desire.
One of them dies, the other laughs; The seconds smile, the doctor chaffs.
A woman, smiling, dreams she's wed To--hush, to the very one that's dead.
The snow came softly, silently, down Into the streets of the dark old town; And lo! by the wind it was swept and piled On the sleeping form of a beggar-child.
It kissed her cheek, and it filled her hair With crystals that looked like diamonds there; And she dreamed that she was a fair young bride In a pure white dress by her husband's side.
A blush crept over her pale young face, And her thin lips smiled with a girlish grace; But the old storm-king made his boast aloud That his work that night was weaving a shroud.
Love has come back--ah me, the joy!-- Greater than when Love began To wound my heart. The jocund boy! Love has come back a gray-haired man.
His eyes are red with tears of woe, His cheeks are pale, and his heart is sore; But Love has come back at last, and, oh! Love will be faithful evermore.