Outlaughed the crested sea!
And my heart was alive in my breast
With light, and love, and thee!

There was a little music in the verses, and they had a meaning--though
not a very new or valuable one.

He went in the morning--the real, not the conventional--and was shown
into the drawing-room, his heart beating with expectation. Lady Lufa was
alone, and already at the piano. She was in a gray stuff with red
rosebuds, and looked as simple as any country parson's daughter. She
gave him no greeting beyond a little nod, at once struck a chord or two,
and began to sing.

Walter was charmed. The singing, and the song through the singing,
altogether exceeded his expectation. He had feared he should not be able
to laud heartily, for he had not lost his desire to be truthful--but she
was an artist! There was indeed nothing original in her music; it was
mainly a reconstruction of common phrases afloat in the musical
atmosphere; but she managed the slight dramatic element in the lyric
with taste and skill, following tone and sentiment with chord and
inflection; so that the music was worthy of the verses--which is not
saying very much for either; while the expression the girl threw into
the song went to the heart of the youth, and made him foolish.

She ceased; he was silent for a moment, then fervent in thanks and
admiration.

"The verses are mine no more," he said. "I shall care for them now!"