Thus grown familiar, and at perfect ease, What could be Jennet's duty but to please? Yet hitherto she kept, scarce knowing why, One powerful charm reserved, and still was shy. When Alfred from his grand-piano drew Those heavenly sounds that seem'd for ever new, She sat as if to sing would be a crime, And only gazed with joy, and nodded time. Till one snug evening, I myself was there, The whispering lad inquired, behind my chair, "Bowman, can Jennet sing?" "At home," said I, "She sings from morn till night, and seems to fly "From tune to tune, the sad, the wild, the merry, "And moulds her lip to suit them like a cherry; "She learn'd them here."--"O ho!" said he, "O ho!" And rubb'd his hands, and stroked his forehead, so. Then down he sat, sought out a tender strain, Sung the first words, then struck the chords again; "Come, Jennet, help me, you _must_ know this song "Which I have sung, and you have heard so long." I mark'd the palpitation of her heart, Yet she complied, and strove to take a part, But faint and fluttering, swelling by degrees, Ere self-composure gave that perfect ease, The soul of song:--then, with triumphant glee, Resting her idle work upon her knee, Her little tongue soon fill'd the room around With such a voluble and magic sound, That, 'spite of all her pains to persevere, She stopp'd to sigh, and wipe a starting tear; Then roused herself for faults to make amends. While Alfred trembled to his fingers' ends. But when this storm of feeling sunk to rest, Jennet, resuming, sung her very best, And on the ear, with many a dying fall, She pour'd th' enchanting "Harp of Tara's Hall." Still Alfred hid his raptures from her view, Still touch'd the keys, those raptures to renew, And led her on to that sweet past'ral air, The Highland Laddie with the yellow hair. She caught the sound, and with the utmost ease Bade nature's music triumph, sure to please: Such truth, such warmth, such tenderness express'd, That my old heart was dancing in my breast. Upsprung the youth, "O Jennet, where's your hand? "There's not another girl in all the land, "If she could bring me empires, bring me sight, "Could give me such unspeakable delight: "You little baggage! not to tell before "That you could sing; mind--you go home no more."