“Jest!” quoth Milor; “why, Adeline, you know
That we ourselves—’twas in the honey moon
Saw—”—“Well, no matter, ’twas so long ago;
But, come, I’ll set your story to a tune.”
Graceful as Dian when she draws her bow,
She seized her harp, whose strings were kindled soon
As touched, and plaintively began to play
The air of “ ’Twas a Friar of Orders Gray.”