He suddenly called for his men to come;
  So they made their appearance one by one,
  And he said, ’The gen’leman’s not been ’ome,
  And she ’asn’t a notion what he’s done.

  And he won’t come now, you may swear to that;
  I rayther think he’ll look arter a ship: 
  I rayther suspect we’ve been rayther flat,
  And the gen’leman’s given us the slip!’

  With a regular march they trod the ground,
  Suddenly left me alone in the hall;
  In the dreadful silence that settled round,
  Again I knew I was dreaming it all?

  A voice that can banish my sleep I know;
  I know a voice that could wake me if dead;
  A loud cheery voice, but it might speak low,
  And ‘May, little May,’ it whispering said.

  I stand like a statue of silence.  Hush! 
  I listen not with my ears, but my soul;
  And I feel the sudden accustom’d blush,
  As again the whisper reaches its goal.

  I open the window.  ’Mid blossom and bough
  Of clustering laurel and Daphne white,
  I am showering kisses on Harry’s brow,
  And dropping the first tears I’ve shed to-night.

  His face is as white as the Daphne-bud;
  He is hiding down on the hidden sward;
  He is wan and haggard, and splashed with mud;
  He is crouching frighten’d—­my king and lord!

  He whisper’d, and fill’d my heart with dismay,—­
  Scared by the sounds that used once to rejoice!—­
  O Harry, my Harry, speak loudly, I pray,
  And not in that shocking whispering voice.

  He whisper’d, ’I’ve got in a horrid scrape;
  Fetch me some money, and bid me good-bye;
  I must run away, and make my escape,’—­
  ‘I shall run with you, my darling,’ said I.

  ‘You cannot,’ he murmur’d;—­a speechless love
  Shone out of his eyes; he return’d my kiss—­
  ’I never intended—­Great Father above,
  You know that I never intended this.

  Fetch me some money—­the desk and the key—­
  You know them—­be quick! or dearly you’ll rue—­
  My life’s in your hands!—­have mercy on me—­
  Fetch me some money—­It’s all you can do.’

  A horrible haste in manner and voice,
  A desperate hungry imploring haste;
  I rush’d up the stairs—­I had not a choice,
  And I snatch’d the notes from where they were plac’d
  All that I had—­to the window I rush’d—­
  With kisses and tears in his hands I laid;
  He return’d the kisses, with lips that crush’d
  Their vehement kisses on lips dismay’d.

  He was almost gone; but I held him tight,
  And cried in my anguish, ’You have forgot—­
  When shall I follow you, darling? to-night?’
  He shook his head, and he answer’d me not! 
  He threw off my hands in a savage way;
  He cried, ‘I adore you,’ in fondest tone;
  ’You shall follow me, sweet—­I dare not stay—­
  I’ll write to you, darling;’ and he is gone!