  (From the Viceroy) ONE day I swear by the eyes of black, The next by the eyes of blue; ’Tis in merry black eyes that the love-light lies, But the blue are more apt to be true. The dusky-eyed maid has a laughing look That can make you the world forget, my boy; But the gentle blue eye never causes a sigh, And it rarely denotes the coquette, my boy. Eyes of black or eyes of blue, Devil a bit does it matter I say! If I love one to-day, why to-morrow I may So here is a toast to the feminine host, The blue eyes for me or the black for you. The one for a time I shall think sublime, And then if you like I will change with you. One day I sing of the raven curls, The next of the ringlets fair. Be mine the brunette of the tresses jet, Mine the Hebe of golden hair. For the gypsy-like maid has a heart that’s warm, You are lucky indeed if you’re hers, my boy; But there’s many a blonde can be equally fond, If you’re only the one she prefers, my boy. Raven hair or hair of gold, Devil a bit does it matter I say! If I love one to-day, why to-morrow I may Have a caprice for the auburn gay; So here is a toast to the feminine host, Blond ringlets for me and the black for you. The one for a time I shall think sublime, And then if you like I will change with you. Harry B. Smith. |
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