_P._ I see no more within our borough’s bound The name of DANVERS! Is it to be found? Were the young pair in Hymen’s fetters tied, Or did succeeding years the Friends divide? _F._ Nay! take the story, as by time brought forth, And of such Love and Friendship judge the worth. While the lad’s love—his parents call’d it so— Was going on, as well as love could go, 90 A wealthy Danvers, in a distant place, Left a large fortune to this favour’d race. To that same place the father quickly went, And Richard only murmur’d weak dissent. Of Richard’s heart the parent truly guess’d:— “Well, my good lad! then do what suits thee best; No doubt thy brothers will do all they can T’ obey the orders of the good old man. Well, I would not thy free-born spirit bind; Take, Dick, the way to which thou’rt most inclined.” 100 No answer gave the youth; nor did he swear The old man’s riches were beneath his care; Nor that he would with his dear Phœbe stay, And let his heartless father move away. No! kind and constant, tender, faithful, fond— Thus far he’d go—but not one step beyond! Not disobedient to a parent’s will— A lover constant—but dependent still. Letters, at first, between the constant swain And the kind damsel banish’d all their pain. 110 Both full and quick they were; for lovers write With vast despatch, and read with vast delight— So quick they were—for Love is never slow— So full, they ever seem’d to overflow. Their hearts are ever fill’d with grief or joy, And these to paint is every hour’s employ; Joy they would not retain, and, for their grief, To read such letters is a sure relief. But, in due time, both joy and grief supprest, They found their comfort in a little rest. 120 Mails went and came without the accustom’d freight, For Love grew patient, and content to wait— Yet was not dead, nor yet afraid to die; For, though he wrote not, Richard wonder’d why. He could not justly tell how letters pass’d, But, as to him appear’d, he wrote the last; In this he meant not to accuse the maid— Love, in some cases, ceases to upbraid. Yet not indifferent was our Lover grown, Although the ardour of the flame was flown; 130 He still of Phœbe thought, her lip, her smile— But grew contented with his fate the while. Thus, not inconstant were the youthful pair— The Lad remembered still the Lass was fair; And Phœbe still, with half-affected sigh, Thought it a pity that such love should die; And had they then, with this persuasion, met, Love had rekindled, and been glowing yet. But times were changed; no mention now was made By the old Squire, or by the young, of trade. 140 The worthy Lady, and her children all, Had due respect—The People at the Hall. His Worship now read Burn, and talk’d with skill About the poor-house, and the turnpike-bill; Lord of a manor, he had serious claims,