Turn’d quickly round and saw an antler’d deer,
Of graceful form, the noblest of his race,
Matchless in stature, and lord of the chase:
Jane’s movements made the handsome creature bound,
Light as an angel, o’er the scythèd ground:
“Ah! nimble forester,” she said, “I see—
’Twas you that drove the cuckoo off the tree.”
X.
A year and seven months had now gone by
Since Arnold Mountjoy left for Germany: