Another Riddle


There was a little maiden,
And cross and proud was she,
And I loved her very much,
And she loved me!

She determined to live single,
And I begged and prayed her not,
So at last she married me,
And I pitied her hard lot,

There was another maiden
Who hated me, and I
Hated her — she loved her lover
Always best when I was by.

When he told his love, to have
Me present he took care;
And she always answered kindly
If I was there to hear.

O! many a soft and tender thing,
Was said by lip and eye,
That never had been thought of
If I had not been nigh.

And now, ye lovely maidens,
With my presence and advice
You may always turn your lovers
Into husbands in a trice.

When these love tales you hear, and wish
To make a kind reply —
Tell all to me, and when you meet
Take care that I am by.

Now I must tell you who I am,
Lest some mistake there be:
I am the one that those soft scenes
You wish should always see.
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