As from the banquet the ladies depart
I hear two gentlemen murmuring low--
'The Captain has got an excellent start
But he won't set the Thames on fire, you know!'

Then I look back and attempt to decide
_Who_ is this Captain who must not aspire;
I meet Harry's eyes, and I smile with pride,
For I know _he_ could set the Thames on fire!

Afterwards music; he sings and I sing,
She sings and they sing, and minutes flit past:--
Harmony certainly quickens Time's wing,
And the lark sings loudest when flying fast.




HIS SONG.


Must he toil beneath the sun
Who has nothing else to do?
What's the use of such a one?
I know not--pray do you?
Skies are not aflame for him;
_He_ converses not with elves;
Primroses on river's brim
_Can_ be nothing but themselves.