In woodland glade, when armed for sylvan war,
You mark the antlered monarch from afar,
Your sportive toil cannot my pleasure mar;
Constant your heart; it beats for me alone.
In summer night, gazing on starry sky,
And on yon radiant queen, who rides on high,
Your fancy seems to roam, yet hovers nigh;
Constant your heart; it beats for me alone.
But hark! yon trump! you start as from a dream;
From your bright eyes the warrior flashes gleam;
All else forgotten. War is now your theme;
Constant my heart; it beats for you alone.
'Midst charging hosts, the foremost rank is thine;
In saddened bower, the thrilling fear is mine;
You glow with ardor, I in sorrow pine;
Constant my heart; it beats for you alone.
Could L'Isle's vanity be beguiling him? The tremor of her voice, her
saddened troubled look, the beaming glances of her eyes, which hovered
about him, yet shunned to meet his gaze--they all betrayed her. She
was, perhaps half consciously, identifying him with the object of the
song. Her audience were delighted, but L'Isle was entranced, and no
longer a responsible man.
The guests were now fast leaving the house, and Lady Mabel, having
much to say to Mrs.
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