Blue are her eyes as the clear vault of heaven,
Pale her smooth brow, though some rose-bud has given
Its loveliest tint to that soft cheek and lip,
Which ’twere worth a king’s ransom once only to sip;
While the net-work of curls in her bonny brown hair
Has entangled a sun-beam and prisoned it there.
And Sir Rupert admired her, and flattered, and laughed,
And his ardour grew warmer the deeper he quaffed;
He touched her fair fingers whene’er he was able,
And in error pressed warmly the leg of the table;