POETRY.
NANCY.
LOVELY eyes, so insincere, Changing with each changing fancy, As the winds of liking veer In the pretty head of Nancy.
Who would ask a love to last In the days when hopes are plenty, When the blood flows free and fast Through the veins of sweet-and-twenty ?
See her at the County Ball Moving through the opening lancers, Knowing at her beck and call Some two dozen favourite dancers.
Captain, Squire, or London friend, Pieces in the game she's playing ; How the tournament will end, There is yet no need for saying.
Let them come and she will see; Love is yet postponed to dancing ; Time enough to choose will be When a valse feels less entrancing.
Well! I care not, while you may, Nancy, take your fill of pleasure ; There will surely come a day When you seek a nobler treasure.
Fancy into Love will grow, Mirth of heart to Joy more tender, Wisdom's teaching you will know, And your toll to Sorrow render. B. H. H.
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