Not so our maiden. She, before resign’d, } Had now the anguish of a wounded mind— 160} And felt the languid grief that the deserted find. } On him she had reposed each worldly view, And when he fail’d, the world itself withdrew, With all its prospects. Nothing could restore To life its value; hope would live no more: Pensive by nature, she can not sustain The sneer of pity that the heartless feign; But to the pressure of her griefs gives way, A quiet victim, and a patient prey; The one bright view that she had cherish’d dies, 170 And other hope must from the future rise. She still extends to grief and want her aid, And by the comfort she imparts, is paid. Death is her soul’s relief; to him she flies For consolation that this world denies. No more to life’s false promises she clings, } She longs to change this troubled state of things, } Till every rising morn the happier prospect brings. } TALE X. _THE ANCIENT MANSION._ I. To part is painful; nay, to bid adieu Ev’n to a favourite spot is painful too. That fine old Seat, with all those oaks around, } Oft have I view’d with reverence so profound, } As something sacred dwelt in that delicious ground. } There, with its tenantry about, reside A genuine English race, the country’s pride; And now a Lady, last of all that race, Is the departing spirit of the place. Hers is the last of all that noble blood, 10 That flow’d through generations brave and good; And, if there dwells a native pride in her, It is the pride of name and character. True, she will speak, in her abundant zeal, Of stainless honour; that she needs must feel; She must lament, that she is now the last Of all who gave such splendour to the past. Still are her habits of the ancient kind; She knows the poor, the sick, the lame, the blind. She holds, so she believes, her wealth in trust; 20 And being kind, with her, is being just. Though soul and body she delights to aid, Yet of her skill she’s prudently afraid; So to her chaplain’s care she _this_ commends, And, when _that_ craves, the village doctor sends. At church attendance she requires of all Who would be held in credit at the Hall; A due respect to each degree she shows, And pays the debt that every mortal owes; ’Tis by opinion that respect is led: 30 The rich esteem because the poor are fed. Her servants all, if so we may describe That ancient, grave, observant, decent tribe, Who with her share the blessings of the Hall, Are kind but grave, are proud but courteous all— Proud of their lucky lot! behold, how stands That grey-haired butler, waiting her commands; The Lady dines, and every day he feels That his good mistress falters in her meals. With what respectful manners he entreats 40