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To luting minstrels whose life’s mission
Is sentimental ditties and regrets,
Though she in heart felt this was stated wrongly.
And such is, after all, a maiden’s heart,
Unknown to her, unsearchable to man,
It quotes one thing, while feeling quite another,
Though guileless like a sister to her brother,
Her head and heart are like a sprightly span
Of untrained colts which ever pull apart.
But we must shun continuous digression,
And turn to him, the hero of our tale,
Who made the rather sad discovery,
That Stella ne’ertheless did worship Chivalry,
But not in men of fifty, though all hale,
For he received a “No” to his confession.
Her heart cleaved to a youth in far off land,
A youth of prowess in her country’s cause,
Though not bethrothed, she hoped the day would come,
When that should be, ev’n in her father’s home,
This to Sordino a great sorrow was,
Since he had hoped to win her heart and hand.
He said adieu to these his friends, by chance,
And drew away, he cared but little whither,