I WISH the happy time were nigh,
When youths are sold, that I might buy.
But for an azure-eyed _Milinar_, {219}
I would not give a single dinar,
Though for a raven-black eyed youth,
A thousand golden coins, in truth.
Alas! alas!—and is it true?
My own fair youth has eyes of blue;
Yes! they are blue—yet dear to me—
Will he forgive my levity?
Ye maidens! pray him to forgive me;
Nay! spare me now—and rather leave me
To tell him “I am yours”—and smile
In fond affection all the while.