For when her filled eyes on your picture fixed,
And when your name in all she spoke was mixed,
’Twas hard to chide an over-grateful mind!
Then each attempt a likelier choice to find
Made only fresh-rejected suitors grieve,
And Udolph’s pride—perhaps her own—believe
That could she meet, she might enchant e’en you.
You came.—I augured the event, ’tis true,
But how was Udolph’s mother to exclude
The guest that claimed our boundless gratitude?