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.