Song.

SONG.

WHILE many a fond and blooming maid Attempts thy heart to gain; And, by thy fatal smile betrayed, Thinks not she strives in vain:

While in those eyes of tender blue They answering passion see, And in thy sweet expression view The charm that conquered me: ....

I still should scorn their winning art, And be, my Henry, blest, If thou wouldst give that precious heart To her who loves thee best.