LE 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.
