“Indeed you can,” answered Tom. “I’ll give you the best advice I can. Don’t say anything to any one else for a few days; at all events restrain your ardour, do not commit yourself while the lady remains on board. You can write to her, you know, at any time, when she’s safe on shore, then the captain would not interfere. Perhaps, after a little absence, you may find your affection cool; for, from the way you describe her parents, I am, as a friend, bound to tell you that there are some objections to the match, and I am sure the captain would see them.”
“I am sure that I shall never love her less than I do now,” answered Billy. “I have been thinking of composing some verses to present to her. As you know, I am something of a poet, but I should like to show them to you before I give them.”
“Didn’t you once begin some to a young lady in Sydney?” asked Tom, slily. “I don’t think you ever finished them.”
“No, nor did I; still, I thought of completing them now. You must remember that the young lady there gave me no encouragement, but at present I know that they will be received, and my poetic genius will be stimulated. Oh, Tom! it is very delightful to be in love, but it sadly unhinges a man, you know that from experience.”
“Bosh! If I ever was in love, it is so long ago and I was such a boy at the time, that I have forgotten all about it,” answered Tom, not quits liking Billy’s remark. “But what about the verses?” he asked.
“I have them in my pocket, as far as I have gone. I would read them by the binnacle lamp but that the helmsman would overhear me. I think, however, I can recollect them. They begin—
“‘Angelica, my own beloved,
An earthly angel thou!’
“I forget the third line, but the fourth is—
“‘Before thy shrine I bow.
“‘The jasmine, lily, and the rose,
In thee are all entwined.’
“Those third lines bother me, but the fourth I thought of terminating with ‘combined.’ Perhaps you can help me, Tom?”