Dear Myra, the captive ribband’s mine,
’Twas all my faithful love could gain;
And would you ask me to resign
The sole reward that crowns my pain?
Go, bid the hero who has run
Thro’ fields of death to gather fame,
Go, bid him lay his laurels down,
And all his well-earn’d praise disclaim.
The ribband shall its freedom lose—
Lose all the bliss it had with you,
And share the fate I would impose
On thee, wert thou my captive too.
It shall upon my bosom live,
Or clasp me in a close embrace;
And at its fortune if you grieve,
Retrieve its doom, and take its place.
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