Who was in uniform at the ball? Silly Billy,
But Mrs. Dodd's severe taste in music rejected those ignoble jerks, and her enthusiastic daughter having the option to hymn immortal Constancy or mortal Fat, decided thus:--
When like the early rose, Aileen aroon, Beauty in childhood glows, Aileen aroon,
When like a diadem, Buds blush around the stem, Which is the fairest gem? Aileen aroon.
Is it the laughing eye? Aileen aroon. Is it the timid sigh? Aileen aroon.
Is it the tender tone? Soft as the string'd harp's mean? No; it is Truth alone, Aileen aroon.
I know a valley fair, Aileen aroon. I know a cottage there, Aileen aroon.
Far in that valley's shade, I know a gentle maid, Flower of the hazel glade, Aileen aroon.
Who in the song so sweet? Aileen aroon, Who in the dance so fleet? Aileen aroon.
Dear are her charms to me, Dearer her laughter free, Dearest her constancy. Aileen aroon.
Youth must with time decay, Aileen aroon, Beauty must fade away, Aileen aroon.
Castles are sacked in war, Chieftains are scattered far, Truth is a fixed star, Aileen areon.
The way the earnest singer sang these lines is beyond the conception of ordinary singers, public or private. Here one of nature's orators spoke poetry to music with an eloquence as fervid and delicate as ever rung in the Forum. She gave each verse with the same just variety as if she had been reciting, and, when she came to the last, where the thought rises abruptly, and is truly noble, she sang it with the sudden pathos, the weight, and the swelling majesty, of a truthful soul hymning truth with all its powers.
All the hearers, even Sampson, were thrilled, astonished, spell-bound: so can one wave of immortal music and immortal verse (alas! how seldom they meet!) heave the inner man when genius interprets. Judge, then, what it was to Alfred, to whom, with these great words and thrilling tones of her rich, swelling, ringing voice, the darling of his own heart vowed constancy, while her inspired face beamed on him like an angel's.
Even Mrs. Dodd, though acquainted with the song, and with her daughter's rare powers, gazed at her now with some surprise, as well as admiration, and kept a note Sarah had brought her, open, but unread, in her hand, unable to take her eyes from the inspired songstress. However, just before the song ended, she did just glance down, and saw it was signed Richard Hardie. On this her eye devoured it; and in one moment she saw that the writer declined, politely but peremptorily, the proposed alliance between his son and her daughter.