Of those eyes, or caressing the hand that now petted
That fine English mare, I should much have regretted
Whatever might lose me one little half-hour
Of a pastime so pleasant, when once in my power.
For, if one drop of milk from the bright Milky Way
Could turn into a woman, 'twould look, I dare say,
Not more fresh than Matilda was looking that day.


VII.


But, whatever the feeling that prompted the sigh
With which Alfred Vargrave now watched her ride by,
I can only affirm that, in watching her ride,
As he turned from the window he certainly sigh'd.



CANTO II.

I.


LETTER FROM LORD ALFRED VARGRAVE TO THE COMTESSE DE NEVERS.

BIGORRE, TUESDAY.


"Your note, Madam, reach'd me to-day, at Bigorre,