But I in him could not affection trace— } Careless he put his sermons in their place, } With no more feeling than his sermon-case. } “Not so those generous girls beyond the brook— It quite unmann’d me as my leave I took. “But, my dear Brother! when I take at night, 320 In my own home and in their mother’s sight, By turns my children, or together see A pair contending for the vacant knee; When to Matilda I begin to tell What in my visit first and last befell— Of this your village, of her tower and spire, And, above all, her Rector and her ‘Squire, How will the tale be marr’d when I shall end— I left displeased the Brother and the friend?” “Nay, Jacques is honest—Marry, he was then 330 Engaged—What! part an author and his pen? Just in the fit, and when th’ inspiring ray Shot on his brain, t’ arrest it in its way! Come, thou shalt see him in an easier vein, Nor of his looks nor of his words complain; Art thou content?”— If Richard had replied, “I am,” his manner had his words belied. Even from his Brother’s cheerfulness he drew Something to vex him—what, he scarcely knew; So he evading said, “My evil fate 340 Upon my comforts throws a gloom of late: Matilda writes not; and, when last she wrote, I read no letter—’twas a trader’s note— ‘Yours I received,’ and all that formal prate That is so hateful, that she knows I hate. “Dejection reigns, I feel, but cannot tell Why upon me the dire infection fell. Madmen may say that they alone are sane, And all beside have a distemper’d brain; Something like this I feel—and I include 350 Myself among the frantic multitude; But, come, Matilda writes, although but ill, And home has health, and that is comfort still.” George stopt his horse, and with the kindest look Spoke to his Brother—earnestly he spoke, As one who to his friend his heart reveals. And all the hazard with the comfort feels. “Soon as I loved thee, Richard—and I loved Before my reason had the will approved, Who yet right early had her sanction lent, 360 And with affection in her verdict went— So soon I felt, that thus a friend to gain, And then to lose, is but to purchase pain. Daily the pleasure grew, then sad the day That takes it all in its increase away! “Patient thou wert, and kind—but well I knew } The husband’s wishes, and the father’s too; } I saw how check’d they were, and yet in secret grew. } Once and again, I urged thee to delay Thy purposed journey, still deferr’d the day; 370 And still on its approach the pain increased Till my request and thy compliance ceased. I could not further thy affection task, Nor more of one so self-resisting ask; But yet to lose thee, Richard, and with thee All hope of social joys—it cannot be. Nor could I bear to meet thee, as a boy } From school his parents, to obtain a joy, }