I.

Why should not I take her unto my heart!
She has not a morsel of guile or art;
Why should not I make her my happy wife,
And love her and cherish her all my life?
I've met with a few of as shining eyes,
I've met with a hundred of wilder sighs,
I think I met some whom I loved as well —
But none who loved me like my Darling Nell.

II.

She's ready to cry when I seem unkind,
But she smothers her grief within her mind;
And when my spirit is soft and fond,
She sparkles the brightest of stars beyond.
Oh! 'twould teach the thrushes to hear her sing,
And her sorrow the heart of a rock would wring;
There never was saint but would leave his cell,
If he thought he could marry my Darling Nell!