"Say, why art thou pensive, beloved of my heart? Indeed I am happy wherever thou art: My eyes I confess toward others may rove, But never, believe me, with wishes of love. And trust me, however my _glances_ may roam, Of them, and _my heart_, THOU ALONE ART THE HOME!" ANSWER. "Perhaps I am wrong thus dejected to be; But my faithful eyes never wander from _thee_. On beauty and youth _I unconsciously_ gaze, No thought, no emotion in me they can raise; And ah! if thine eyes get the habit to roam, How can I _be certain_ they'll EVER COME HOME?" "Oh! trust thy own charms! See the bee as he flies, And visits each blossom of exquisite dies; There culls of their sweetness some store for his cell; But short are his visits, and prompt his farewell; For still he remembers, howe'er he may roam, That _hoard of delight_ which AWAITS HIM AT HOME. "Then trust me, however thy Henry may roam, I feel my best pleasures AWAIT ME AT HOME." "I'll try to believe, howsoever thou roam, Thy heart's dearest pleasures await thee at home." "That is a charming duet," cried Seymour when it was ended. Then leaning behind Lady Martindale and Lord Charles, and calling to me, he said, with a look from which my conscious eye shrunk, "Helen, I admire the sentiment of that duet. I think, my love, we will get it--we should sing it _con amore_, should we not?" I could not look at him as I replied, "_I_ could, I am sure." "Silly girl," he added in a low and kind tone, "and so, I am sure, could I." I then ventured to raise my eyes to his; and his expression was such, that I felt quite a different creature, and was able to enjoy the rest of the evening. But why do I enter into these minute and unimportant details? Let me efface them--but no, perhaps they may chance to meet the eyes of some whose hearts have felt the anxieties and the vicissitudes of mine, and to them they may be interesting. Lord Martindale was now requested to favour the company with a song, and with great good nature he instantly complied;--while Lord Charles whispered across me to my mother, "What a disgrace that fellow is to the peerage!" "By his vices I grant you," replied my mother, "but not by his obliging compliance." Lord Charles shrugged up his shoulders and was about to reply, when Silence was vociferated rather angrily by the lady of the house, who had not been blind to the airs which, as she said, Lord Charles had given himself the whole evening. Lord Martindale, as may be supposed, was greatly applauded, on the same principle as that mentioned by the poet with regard to noble authors: "For if a lord once own the happy lines, How the wit brightens! how the taste refines!"