Her own and manhood’s modesty Made dumb her love, but, on their road, His hand in hers felt soft reply, And like rejoinder found bestow’d; And, when the carriage set them down, ‘How strange,’ said he, ‘’twould seem to meet, When pacing, as we now this town, A Florence or a Lisbon Street, That Laura or that Catherine, who, In the remote, romantic years, From Petrarch or Camoens drew Their songs and their immortal tears!’ But here their converse had its end; For, crossing the Cathedral Lawn, There came an ancient college-friend, Who, introduced to Mrs. Vaughan, Lifted his hat, and bow’d and smiled. And fill’d her kind large eyes with joy, By patting on the cheek her child, With, ‘Is he yours, this handsome boy?’ * * * * * * * * * * Printed by Cassell & Company, Limited, La Bella Sauvage, London, E.C. 18–491