The uncle dreamt not that his nephew’s heart
Was smitten, wounded with love’s keenest dart:
He little thought it—that henceforth this girl,
Of humble birth, would be so rich a pearl
To his “dear boy:” it never cross’d his brain
The youth so soon would wander there again;
And there to press her tiny hand in his,
(The while implanting on her cheek a kiss,)
And leaving in that hand a valued ring,—
That when she saw ’t she might, remembering