The Lines were read, and many an idle word Pronounced with emphasis, and underscored, As if the writer had resolved that all His nouns and verbs should be emphatical But what they were the damsel little thought; The sense escaped her, but the voice she caught, Soft, tender, trembling; and the gipsy felt As if by listening she unfairly dealt; For she, if not mamma, had rightly guess’d, 170 That William’s bosom was no seat of rest. But Love’s young hope must die.—There was a day When nature smiled, and all around was gay; The Boy o’ertook the damsel, as she went The village road—unknown was her intent; He, happy hour, when lock’d in Fanny’s arm, Walk’d on enamour’d, every look a charm! Yet her soft looks were but her heart’s disguise, There was no answering love in Fanny’s eyes; But, or by prudence or by pity moved, 180 She thought it time his folly was reproved; Then took her measures, not perchance without Some conscious pride in what she was about. Along the brook with gentle pace they go, The Youth unconscious of th’ impending woe; And oft he urged the absent Maid to talk, As she was wont in many a former walk; And still she slowly walk’d beside the brook, Or look’d around—for what could Fanny look? Something there must be! What, did not appear; 190 But William’s eye betray’d the anxious fear, The cause unseen!—— But who, with giant-stride, Bounds o’er the brook, and is at Fanny’s side? Who takes her arm? and oh! what villain dares To press those lips? Not even her lips he spares! Nay, she herself, the Fanny, the divine, Lip to his lip can wickedly incline! The lad, unnerved by horror, with an air Of wonder quits her arm and looks despair; Nor will proceed. Oh no! he must return, 200 Though his drown’d sight cannot the path discern. “Come, Master William! come, Sir, let us on. What can you fear? You’re not afraid of John?” “What ails our youngster?” quoth the burly swain, Six feet in height—but he inquires in vain. William, in deep resentment, scans the frame Of the fond giant, and abhors his name; Thinks him a demon of th’ infernal brood, And longs to shed his most pernicious blood. Again the monster spake in thoughtless joy,— 210 “We shall be married soon, my pretty Boy! And dwell in Madam’s cottage, where you’ll see The strawberry-beds, and cherries on the tree.” Back to his home in silent scorn return’d Th’ indignant Boy, and all endearment spurn’d. Fanny perforce with Master takes her way, But finds him to th’ o’erwhelming grief a prey, Wrapt in resentful silence, till he came Where he might vent his woes, and hide his shame. Fierce was his strife, but with success he strove, 220 And freed his troubled breast from fruitless love; Or what of love his reason fail’d to cool Was lost and perish’d in a public school—