Her portion decent, whither would you take? Is there some cottage on your father’s ground, Where may a dwelling for the girl be found? Or a small farm--your mother understands How to make useful such a pair of hands. 270 “‘But this we drop at present, if you please; We shall have leisure for such things as these; They will be proper ere you fix the day For the poor girl to honour and obey; At present therefore we may put an end To our discourse--Good morrow to you, friend!’ “Then, with a solemn curtesy and profound, } Her laughing eye she lifted from the ground, } And left me lost in thought, and gazing idly round.-- } “Still we had hope, and, growing bold in time, 280 I would engage the father in our crime; But he refused, for, though he wish’d us well, He said, ‘he must not make his house a hell;’-- And sure the meaning look that I convey’d Did not inform him that the hell was made. “Still hope existed that a mother’s heart Would in a daughter’s feelings take a part; Nor was it vain--for there is found access To a hard heart, in time of its distress. “The mother sicken’d, and the daughter sigh’d, 290 And we petition’d till our queen complied; She thought of dying, and, if power must cease, Better to make, than cause, th’ expected peace; And sure, this kindness mixing with the blood, Its balmy influence caused the body’s good; For as a charm it work’d upon the frame Of the reviving and relenting dame; For, when recover’d, she no more opposed Her daughter’s wishes.--Here contention closed. “Then bliss ensued, so exquisitely sweet, 300 That with it once, once only, we can meet; For, though we love again, and though once more We feel th’ enlivening hope we felt before, Still the pure freshness of the joy that cast Its sweet around us is for ever past. O! time to memory precious--ever dear, } Though ever painful--this eventful year; } What bliss is now in view! and now what woes appear! } Sweet hours of expectation!--I was gone To the vile town to press our business on; 310 To urge its formal instruments--and lo! Comes with dire looks a messenger of wo, With tidings sad as death!--With all my speed I reach’d her home!--but that pure soul was freed-- She was no more--for ever shut that eye, That look’d all soul, as if it could not die; It could not see me--O! the strange distress } Of these new feelings!--misery’s excess, } What can describe it? words will not express. } When I look back upon that dreadful scene, 320 I feel renew’d the anguish that has been, And reason trembles----Yes! you bid me cease, Nor try to think; but I will think in peace.--