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THE TRIUMPHS


Not so the knight—to his parental eyes,
In dazzling pomp delusive visions rise:
That coronet, the object of his vow,
He sees suspended o'er his daughter's brow;
Eager he burns to snap the pendent thread,
And fix the glory on his darling's head.
Far wiser aims the ancient maiden caught,
No empty gew-gaw flutters in her thought;
But, while more keenly she applauds the plan,
Her hope is solid and substantial man;
Not for her infant niece, whose baby frame
She holds unfit for Hymen's holy flame;
But for her riper self, whose strength may bear
The heaviest burden of connubial care.
Tho' different phantoms dance before their sight,
Niece, aunt, and father, in one wish unite,
To join the banquet is their common choice,
The business past with no dissenting voice;
And the warm fire in whom ambition burn'd,
A note of grateful courtesy return'd: