The crowded theatre, or op’ra sweet.
In each will wand’ring glances oft be turned
In search of her, the gifted, lovely, young,
And far-famed Gertrude.—She’s at home to-night.
Look! who’d not be “a glove upon that hand,”[[7]]
On which her brow reposes? Th’ other rests
Upon the page she’s reading. Ah! that sheet
Was filled, no doubt, by one she fondly loves;
For, see! it meets her lip.—She rises now!
Grace! thou’rt a name for her! She moves not like