Unbid and unforbidden, to the room I went, a gloomy wretch amid that gloom; And there the lovely being on her bed Shrouded and cold was laid--Maria dead! There was I left--and I have now no thought Remains with me, how fear or fancy wrought; I know I gazed upon the marble cheek, 330 And pray’d the dear departed girl to speak-- Further I know not, for, till years were fled, All was extinguish’d--all with her was dead. I had a general terror, dread of all That could a thinking, feeling man befall; I was desirous from myself to run, And something, but I knew not what, to shun. There was a blank from this I cannot fill; It is a puzzle and a terror still. Yet did I feel some intervals of bliss, 340 Ev’n with the horrors of a fate like this; And dreams of wonderful construction paid For waking horror--dear angelic maid! “When peace return’d, unfelt for many a year, And hope, discarded flatterer, dared t’ appear; I heard of my estate, how free from debt, And of the comforts life afforded yet; Beside that best of comforts in a life So sad as mine--a fond and faithful wife. My gentle mother, now a widow, made 350 These strong attempts to guide me or persuade. “‘Much time is lost,’ she said, ‘but yet my son May, in the race of life, have much to run; When I am gone, thy life to thee will seem Lonely and sad, a melancholy dream; Get thee a wife--I will not say to love, But one, a friend in thy distress to prove; One who will kindly help thee to sustain Thy spirit’s burden in its hours of pain: Say, will you marry?’--I in haste replied, 360 ‘And who would be the self-devoted bride? There is a melancholy power that reigns Tyrant within me--who would bear his chains, And hear them clicking every wretched hour, With will to aid me, but without the power? But if such one were found with easy mind, Who would not ask for raptures--I’m resign’d.’ “‘’Tis quite enough,’ my gentle mother cried; ‘We leave the raptures, and will find the bride.’ “There was a lady near us, quite discreet, 370 Whom in our visits ’twas our chance to meet: One grave and civil, who had no desire That men should praise her beauties or admire; She in our walks would sometimes take my arm, But had no foolish fluttering or alarm; She wish’d no heart to wound, no truth to prove, And seem’d, like me, as one estranged from love; My mother praised her, and with so much skill, She gave a certain bias to my will; But calm indeed our courtship; I profess’d 380 A due regard--My mother did the rest: Who soon declared that we should love, and grow As fond a couple as the world could show; And talk’d of boys and girls with so much glee,