Fear that torments, and jealousy that stings-- All that is cold, injurious, and unkind, Be it for ever banish’d from the mind; 530 And in that mind, and in that heart be now The soft endearment, and the binding vow!’ “She spoke--and o’er the practised features threw The looks that reason charm, and strength subdue. “Will you not ask, how I beheld that face, Or read that mind, and read it in that place? I have tried, Richard, oft-times, and in vain, To trace my thoughts, and to review their train-- If train there were--that meadow, grove, and stile; The fright, th’ escape, her sweetness and her smile; 540 Years since elapsed, and hope, from year to year, To find her free--and then to find her here! “But is it she?--O! yes; the rose is dead; All beauty, fragrance, freshness, glory fled; But yet ’tis she--the same and not the same-- Who to my bower an heavenly being came; Who waked my soul’s first thought of real bliss; Whom long I sought; and now I find her--this. “I cannot paint her--something I had seen So pale and slim, and tawdry and unclean; 550 With haggard looks, of vice and wo the prey, Laughing in langour, miserably gay. Her face, where face appear’d, was amply spread, } By art’s coarse pencil, with ill-chosen red, } The flower’s fictitious bloom, the blushing of the dead; } But still the features were the same, and strange My view of both--the sameness and the change, That fix’d me gazing and my eye enchain’d, Although so little of herself remain’d; It is the creature whom I loved, and yet 560 Is far unlike her--Would I could forget The angel or her fall! the once adored Or now despised! the worshipp’d or deplored! “‘O! Rosabella!’ I prepared to say, } ‘Whom I have loved,’ but prudence whisper’d nay, } And folly grew ashamed--discretion had her day. } She gave her hand; which, as I lightly press’d, The cold but ardent grasp my soul oppress’d; The ruin’d girl disturb’d me, and my eyes Look’d, I conceive, both sorrow and surprise. 570 “I spoke my business--‘He,’ she answer’d, ‘comes And lodges here--he has the backward rooms-- He now is absent, and I chanced to hear Will not before to-morrow eve appear, And may be longer absent----O! the night When you preserved me in that horrid fright; A thousand, thousand times, asleep, awake, I thought of what you ventured for my sake-- Now, have you thought--yet tell me so--deceive Your Rosabella, willing to believe! 580 O! there is something in love’s first-born pain Sweeter than bliss--it never comes again-- But has your heart been faithful?’--Here my pride, To anger rising, her attempt defied-- ‘My faith must childish in your sight appear,