From the Newark Evening Star, September 1, 1914.
Trust him not, O gentle lady,
Though his voice be low and sweet;
Heed not him who kneels before thee,
Softly pleading at thy feet;
Now thy life is in its morning,
Cloud not this, thy happy lot.
Listen to the gipsy’s warning—
Gentle lady, trust him not.
Lady, once there lived a maiden,
Young and pure, and like thee, fair;
Yet he wooed, and wooed and won her,
Thrilled her gentle heart with care—
Then—he heeded not her weeping—
He cared not her life to save!
Soon she perished—now she’s sleeping
In the cold and silent grave!
Lady, turn not from me so coldly,
For I have only spoke the truth—
From a stern and withering sorrow,
Lady, I would shield thy youth;
I would shield thee from all danger—
Shield thee from the tempter’s snare;
Lady, shun the dark-eyed stranger—
I have warned thee; now, beware!
Take your gold—I do not want it;
Lady, I have prayed for this—
For the hour that I might foil him,
And rob him of expected bliss.
Aye, I see thou art filled with wonder
At my looks so fierce and wild—
Lady, in the churchyard yonder
Sleeps the gipsy’s only child!
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