An hour—a long, long hour, has flown, A year she thought had fleeter gone, When as her eyes, that wander wide, From the green alley turn aside, Lo! from the lawn Lord Deloraine, With that fair lady, comes again; Some one he seems in haste to seek, And blushes rise to Mary’s cheek, Their glances meet—ah! vain to hide Her gentle joy, as at her side, Eager he takes his wonted place, With rapture beaming in his face; Tells her how vainly, and how long, He sought her ’mid the motley throng; Some witchcraft (what she knows not well), Hath o’er the revel cast a spell; She guesses not what magic wand Restores her back to fairy land, And for those thoughts of saddening strain, Gives back her young bright hopes again. That dreaded rival, it appears, Had Mary’s mother known for years; The two, enchanted at the meeting, Exchange at once the kindest greeting: “_So_ glad!—a sweet surprise! my dear, (Lord Deloraine’s cousin) Lady Vere!” Together now through shady walk And rich parterre they stroll and talk; Mary hath but one grief, alas! That hours will now like moments pass. ’Tis true no words of love were spoken, But glance and smile, by many a token, Told that the link, which but death parts, Was flung around a pair of hearts: In truth, ’twas passing fair to see Mary, with sweet simplicity, Droop her long lashes ’neath his gaze, That looked his worship and her praise, The while she thought that praise was sweet As childhood’s music, when we meet Its echoes in a stranger land, And wrapt in pensive reverie stand, Dwelling on happy days gone by, Until a tear-drop dews the eye; And well we love that sadness brief, The softness—not the sting of grief, E’en while we sighing ask again To hear that loved and ancient strain. But Beauty (so a bard of ours Declares), alas! can’t live on flowers; And honeyed words, however dear, And charming to the thirsty ear, Too fine are, too ambrosial quite, To satisfy the appetite. And hence, our senses to content, Luxurious _déjeûners_ were meant; A rich repast,—O call not food The choice inventions of a Ude! Now even lovers rush to eat, And happy they who find a seat— So thickly streams the crowd aside, To taste the good the gods provide!