At the sunrise hour who seeks the bower
Of the Maid of the Merry Heart?
'Tis a soldier dight in armor bright,
And he comes to say — "We part."
With a pleading look her hand he took,
And his pale lips trembled long,
Ere the timid word was faintly heard —
"One kiss — it will make me strong."
But with blushes dyed, the maid replied,
"'Tis the victor's meed I trow !
When the laurels twine that brow of thine,
Then the boon will I bestow."