Male Song
My love, she gave to me a belt, a belt of texture fine,
Of snowy hue, emboss’d with blue and scarlet porcupine;
This tender braid sustain’d the blade I drew against the foe,
And ever prest upon my breast, to mark its ardent glow.
And if with art I act my part, and bravely fighting stand,
I, in the din, a trophy win, that gains Nimosha’s hand.
My love, she is a handsome girl, she has a sparkling eye,
And a head of flowing raven hair, and a forehead arched and high;
Her teeth are white as cowry shells, brought from the distant sea,
And she is tall, and graceful all, and fair as fair can be.
And if with art I act my part, and bravely wooing stand,
And with address my suit I press, I gain Nimosha’s hand.
Oh, I will search the silver brooks for skin of blackest dye,
And scale the highest mountain-tops, a warrior’s gift to spy!
I’ll place them where my love shall see, and know my present true;
Perhaps when she admires the gift, she’ll love the giver, too.
And if with art I act my part, and bravely wooing stand,
I’ll gain my love’s unsullied heart, and then I’ll gain her hand.