Of himself: of his past life, his future, his present: He had thought of the moon, neither full moon nor crescent:' Thought of man in the abstract and woman, no doubt, XXVI. I believe, ere he finish'd his tardy toilette, That Lord Alfred had spoil'd, and flung by in a pet, XXVII. The last waltz was just o'er. The chaperons and dancers were all in a flutter. But a few hours ago, through the perfumed and warm Left the ball-room. XXVIII. The hubbub of comment and praise Reach'd Lord Alfred as just then he enter❜d. Said a Frenchman beside him, 'Ma foi !' 'That lucky Luvois 'Has obtain'd all the gifts of the gods. . . rank and wealth, 'And good looks, and then such inexhaustible health! 'He that hath shall have more; and this truth, I surmise, Is the cause why, to-night, by the beautiful eyes 'Of la charmante Lucile more distinguish'd than all, By another that look'd like a needle, all steel 'Madam,' replied, Interposing, a young man who sat by their side, 'If Luvois has proposed, the Comtesse has refused.' 'Refused! . . . what! a young Duke, not thirty, my dear, With at least half a million (what is it?) a year!' 'That may be,' said the third; 'yet I know some time since 'Castelmar was refused, though as rich, and a Prince. 'But Luvois, who was never before in his life 'In love with a woman who was not a wife, 'Is now certainly serious. Recommenced. XXIX. The music once more XXX. Said Lord Alfred, This ball is a bore!' And return'd to the inn, somewhat worse than before. XXXI. There, whilst musing he lean'd the dark valley above, In the blossom'd acacia the lone cricket chirr'd; And the moon on the mountain was dreaming in light. A stone's throw from thence, through the large lime-trees peep'd, In the moonbeams. The windows oped down to the lawn; Of music and song. In the garden, around A table with fruits, wine, tea, ices, there set, Half-a-dozen young men and young women were met. Through the quiet-leaved limes. At the window there seem'd Of a white dress, a white neck, and soft dusky hair, 'Hear a song that was born in the land of my birth! The anchors are lifted, the fair ship is free, 'And the shout of the mariners floats in its mirth "Twixt the light in the sky and the light on the sea. |