“The girls were orphans early; yet I saw, When young, their father--his profession law; He left them but a competence, a store That made his daughters neither rich nor poor; Not rich, compared with some who dwelt around; Not poor, for want they neither fear’d nor found; Their guardian uncle was both kind and just, 100 One whom a parent might in dying trust; Who, in their youth, the trusted store improved, And, when he ceased to guide them, fondly loved. “These sister beauties were in fact the grace Of yon small town,--it was their native place; Like Saul’s famed daughters were the lovely twain, As Micah, Lucy, and as Merab, Jane: For this was tall, with free commanding air, And that was mild, and delicate, and fair. “Jane had an arch delusive smile, that charm’d 110 And threaten’d too; alluring, it alarm’d; The smile of Lucy her approval told, Cheerful, not changing; neither kind nor cold. “When children, Lucy love alone possess’d, Jane was more punished and was more caress’d; If told the childish wishes, one bespoke A lamb, a bird, a garden, and a brook; The other wish’d a joy unknown, a rout Or crowded ball, and to be first led out. “Lucy loved all that grew upon the ground, 120 And loveliness in all things living found; The gilded fly, the fern upon the wall, Were nature’s works, and admirable all; Pleased with indulgence of so cheap a kind, Its cheapness never discomposed her mind. “Jane had no liking for such things as these, Things pleasing her must her superiors please; The costly flower was precious in her eyes, That skill can vary, or that money buys; Her taste was good, but she was still afraid, 130 Till fashion sanction’d the remarks she made. “The sisters read, and Jane with some delight, The satires keen that fear or rage excite, That men in power attack, and ladies high, And give broad hints that we may know them by. She was amused when sent to haunted rooms, Or some dark passage where the spirit comes Of one once murder’d! then she laughing read, And felt at once the folly and the dread. As rustic girls to crafty gipsies fly, 140 And trust the liar though they fear the lie, Or as a patient, urged by grievous pains, Will fee the daring quack whom he disdains: So Jane was pleased to see the beckoning hand, And trust the magic of the Ratcliffe-wand. “In her religion--for her mind, though light, Was not disposed our better views to slight-- Her favourite authors were a solemn kind, Who fill with dark mysterious thoughts the mind; And who with such conceits her fancy plied, 150 Became her friend, philosopher, and guide. “She made the Progress of the Pilgrim one To build a thousand pleasant views upon;