A Skipton chaise pass'd; whence a stranger look'd out, To see what so many gay folks were about; But the moment the form of his visage appear'd, What a shriek of delight from his consort was heard, 'Tis he! 'tis my Henry! no more could she say, On the bosom of Agnes just fainting she lay, While the gallant Latouche from his vehicle sprung, And in speechless delight o'er his Ellinor hung; While adown his brown face roll'd the gracefullest tear, Which the hero could shed or the lover hold dear, 'Twas a moment of bliss so intense in delight, It concenter'd whole ages of joy in its flight, And as Ellinor's eyes in transported amaze, Again, and again, on her Henry would gaze, The Elysium of extacy glow'd in their beam, The world was forgot, and past sorrow a dream. And think ye that Agnes unmov'd could behold, A scene where the bosom's best feeling's were told? Ah no! in her cheeks heightened blushes I read, Sensibility's whisper that moment had sped, 1050 And told her when hearts thus congenial could meet, Earth knows no communion more pure or more sweet, I hail'd the blest omen, and watch'd for the hour, Which should lead our wild wanderings to solitude's bow'r, But long had we travers'd the ruins and grove, Ere my lips dar'd to utter one word of my love For such trembling anxiety hung on my breast, Even now I scarce know what I falt'ring confest, But _this_ I well know that my falt'ring confession, Was deem'd by the fair one no flagrant transgression, Tho' her words were but few yet her charming confusion, Assur'd me forgiveness beyond all delusion, And this young bud of hope ere the sun was gone down, By her kindness became a fair blossom full blown Oh morning of rapture! oh day of delight! Oh evening full gemm'd with the spangles of night! If e'er I forget the dear moments ye gave me, May the world be my guide--may her follies enslave me, May the blossom of hope from my bosom dissever, And may Agnes be lost to my wishes for ever----