Ah me, how scanty is my store!
Yet, for myself, I'd ne'er repine,
Tho' of the flocks that whiten o'er
Yon plain one lamb were only mine.

'Tis for my lovely maid alone,
This heart has e'er ambition known;
This heart, secure in its treasure,
Is bless'd beyond measure,
Nor envies the monarch his throne.

When in her sight from morn to eve,
The hours they pass unheeded by;
No dark distrust our bosoms grieves,
And care and doubt far distant fly.

'Tis for my lovely maid alone,
This heart has e'er ambition known;
This heart, secure in its treasure,
Is bless'd beyond measure,
Nor envies the monarch his throne.