One look of agony to Heaven she cast,

One prayer she breathed, and then her reason fled! -A few long years of wretchedness and pain Went by their spirits met, never to part again.

I'VE GATHER'D A GARLAND,

I'VE gather'd a garland

Of sweet-scented flowers,

The fairest that grow

In our wild forest bowers; The soft dew still glistens Within their bright cells,

And angels, good angels

Are couch'd in their bells. 5

Ere they wake from their slumbers,

And hie them away,

To whom shall I offer

My pretty boquet?

To whom shall I offer
My pretty boquet?

Sweet Cara, dear Cara,

Who wickedly wove

Soft spells o'er my spirit,

And taught me to love,

Was woo'd by another,

With silver and land,

And-wo for my bosom!

She gave him her hand!

Then, with smiles of contempt, Bade me haste away!

So whom shall I offer

My pretty boquet?

So whom shall I offer

My pretty boquet?

Next Anna, good Anna,

With deep beaming eye,

And lip of sweet carmine,

Awaken'd a sigh.

But ah! her young bosom

Knew naught of Love's flame;

She could never like me!'

And was she 'to blame?'

Vain, vain were my prayers-
She turn'd me away!

So whom shall I offer

My pretty boquet?

So whom shall I offer

My pretty boquet?

Then Lais, proud Lais

Ensnared me anew,

She sent me sweet flowers,

And notes seal'd with blue; And wove me a chain

Of her bright raven hair;

But quickly, ah! quickly

Her love vanish'd in air!

For she found I was poor,
And spurn'd me away!

So whom shall I offer

My pretty boquet?

So whom shall I offer

My pretty boquet?

To Jeanie! to Jeanie!

The artless and mild, Whose bosom is guileless

As that of a child!

Whose eye is a fountain,

Untroubled and deep,

Where thoughts, like bright jewels,

Now glisten, now sleep; Whose spirit hath beauties,

That cannot decay,

To her I will offer

My pretty boquet;

To her I will offer

My pretty boquet.