“Lady mine! lady mine!
Take the rosy wreath I twine,
All its sweets are less than thine,
Lady, lady mine!
The blush that on thy cheek is found
Bloometh fresh the whole year round;
Thy sweet breath as sweet gives sound,
Lady, lady mine!
II
“Lady mine! lady mine!
How I love the graceful vine,
Whose tendrils mock thy ringlets' twine,
Lady, lady mine!
How I love that generous tree,
Whose ripe clusters promise me
Bumpers bright,—to pledge to thee,
Lady, lady mine!
III
“Lady mine! lady mine!
Like the stars that nightly shine,
Thy sweet eyes shed light divine,
Lady, lady mine!
And as sages wise, of old,
From the stars could fate unfold,
Thy bright eyes my fortune told,
Lady, lady mine!”
The song was just in the style to catch gentlemen after dinner—the second verse particularly, and many a glass was emptied of a “bumper bright,” and pledged to the particular “thee,” which each individual had selected for his devotion. Edward, at that moment, certainly thought of Fanny Dawson.
Let teetotallers say what they please, there is a genial influence inspired by wine and song—not in excess, but in that wholesome degree which stirs the blood and warms the fancy; and as one raises the glass to the lip, over which some sweet name is just breathed from the depth of the heart, what libation so fit to pour to absent friends as wine? What is wine? It is the grape present in another form; its essence is there, though the fruit which produced it grew thousands of miles away, and perished years ago. So the object of many a tender thought may be spiritually present, in defiance of space—and fond recollections cherished in defiance of time.
As the party became more convivial, the mirth began to assume a broader form. Tom Durfy drew out Moriarty on the subject of his services, that the mock colonel might throw every new achievement into the shade; and this he did in the most barefaced manner, but mixing so much of probability with his audacious fiction, that those who were not up to the joke only supposed him to be a very great romancer; while those friends who were in Loftus' confidence exhibited a most capacious stomach for the marvellous, and backed up his lies with a ready credence. If Moriarty told some fearful incident of a tiger hunt, the colonel capped it with something more wonderful, of slaughtering lions in a wholesale way, like rabbits. When Moriarty expatiated on the intensity of tropical heat, the colonel would upset him with something more appalling.
“Now, sir,” said Loftus, “let me ask you what is the greatest amount of heat you have ever experienced—I say experienced, not heard of—for that goes for nothing. I always speak from experience.”
“Well, sir,” said Moriarty, “I have known it to be so hot in India, that I have had a hole dug in the ground under my tent, and sat in it, and put a table standing over the hole, to try and guard me from the intolerable fervour of the eastern sun, and even then I was hot. What do you say to that, colonel?” asked Moriarty, triumphantly.