Indian love

Tell me not that thou dost love me,

Though it thrill me with delight:

Thou art like the stars above me,

I the lowly earth at night.

Hast thou, thou from kings descended,

Lov'd the Indian cottage born;

And shall she whom love befriended,

Darken all thy hopeful morn?

Go! and for thy father's glory,

Wed the blood that's pure and free,

'Tis enough to gild my story,

That I once was loved by thee!