O Love! that find’st thy path through eyes, Revealed by glances and soft sighs, The harbingers of hopes, and fears, And rosy blushes, smiles, and tears,— Why, wily archer, try thine art On such a young unguarded heart? Why, ere yet childhood’s dreams have flown, Ere Life its fairest views hath shewn, Chase halcyon Peace from that sweet nest She builds in such a gentle breast? The experienced mother marks the gaze With which the youth her child surveys,— The blush that dyes her modest cheek,— And though ’tis best no word to speak, Swift through her heart a hope _will_ glance, That he will with her Mary dance: For well she knows, by form and air, He ranks among the noblest there. Is it all vainly she aspires? For lo! the admired one swift retires:— He’s gone—there seems a cloud to creep O’er Mary’s bosom still and deep— He’s gone—but, no—he’s here again, Leading the Duchess Deloraine. With outstretched hand and smiling face Thus speaks at once her sapient Grace:— “Dear Lady Percy, how d’ ye do? I thought it could be only you My son described—let me present Lord Deloraine; indeed I meant To seek you—this is Lady Mary, Whom I remember, like a fairy, When tripping lightly round your room, Her lip all smiles, her cheek all bloom. I should have known her by her brow And chin. Dear girl, will you allow Me to present Lord Deloraine? You’ll make his mother very vain If you to him your smiles extend, And to her also, as the friend Of Lady Percy. How’s your Lord? Your daughter’s charming, on my word! While you—I vow I heard Lord Lyster Say you looked like her elder sister. My son has just come from the East, But has not suffered in the least, Though hundreds are in Smyrna dead, None saved, except the wise, who fled That dreadful plague!—It never ends, It killed a dozen of his friends— But Heaven be thanked—once more at home, I trust he ne’er again will roam. Well, Lady Mary’s quite a Belle, And dressed, I must say, _à merveille_— Any attachment, _entre nous_? } Too young?—ha! ha! that’s so like you! } _Au revoir, chère amie!_ adieu!” } While thus his mother’s nimble tongue Talked on—the son enchanted hung On every smile, and winning grace, That played o’er Mary’s lovely face; The while she listened as he told Of many a storied land of old— Few words were said, ere youth and maid A kindred feeling did pervade: Did ever traveller talk so sprightly? Smiled ever Beauty’s eyes so brightly? The mother, with abundant tact The chaperon’s part did well enact, No over-marked desire to please, No feigned reserve—she talked at ease Of climes, and courts, where he had been, With wit and taste, which made it seem That study and reflection taught her, This gives bright promise for her daughter; So deems the youth, whom, half-past five Sees homeward from that revel drive.