’Twas palpably obscure: week after week He sought for comfort, but was still to seek. 250 At length, impatient to return, he strove No more with law, but gave the rein to love; And to his Lady and their native shore Vow’d to return, and thence to turn no more. While yet on Irish ground in trouble kept, The Husband’s terrors in his toils had slept; But he no sooner touch’d the British soil, Than jealous terrors took the place of toil— Where has she been? and how attended? Who Has watch’d her conduct, and will vouch her true? 260 She sigh’d at parting; but methought her sighs Were more profound than would from nature rise; And, though she wept as never wife before, Yet were her eyelids neither swell’d nor sore. Her lady-mother has a good repute As watchful dragon of forbidden fruit; Yet dragons sleep, and mothers have been known To guard a daughter’s secret as their own; Nor can the absent in their travel see How a fond wife and mother may agree. 270 “Suppose the lady is most virtuous!—then, What can she know of the deceits of men? Of all they plan she neither thinks nor cares, But keeps, good lady! at her books and prayers. “In all her letters there are love, respect, } Esteem, regret, affection, all correct— } Too much—she fears that I should see neglect; } And there are fond expressions, but unlike The rest, as meant to be observed and strike; Like quoted words, they have the show of art, 280 And come not freely from the gentle heart— Adopted words, and brought from memory’s store, When the chill faltering heart supplies no more: ’Tis so the hypocrite pretends to feel, And speaks the words of earnestness and zeal, “Hers was a sudden, though a sweet consent; May she not now as suddenly repent? My rival’s vices drove him from her door; But hates she vice as truly as before? How do I know, if he should plead again, 290 That all her scorn and anger would remain? “Oh, words of folly!—is it thus I deem Of the chaste object of my fond esteem? Away with doubt! to jealousy adieu! I know her fondness, and believe her true.— “Yet why that haste to furnish every need, And send me forth with comfort, and with speed? Yes; for she dreaded that the winter’s rage And our frail hoy should on the seas engage. “But that vile girl! I saw a treacherous eye 300 Glance on her mistress! so demure and sly, So forward too—and would Matilda’s pride Admit of that, if there was nought beside?” Such, as he told me, were the doubt, the dread, By jealous fears on observations fed. Home he proceeded: there remain’d to him But a few miles—the night was wet and dim; Thick, heavy dews descended on the ground, And all was sad and melancholy round. While thinking thus, an inn’s far gleaming fire 310 Caused new emotions in the pensive Squire: Here I may learn, and seeming careless too,