With staff and beads, went forth to weep and fast and pray. } In vain his Felice sigh’d—nay, smiled in vain; } With all he loved he [dared] not long remain, } But roved he knew not where, nor said, “I come again.” } The widow’d countess pass’d her years in grief, But sought in alms and holy deeds relief; And many a pilgrim ask’d, with many a sigh, 70 To give her tidings of the wandering Guy. Perverse and cruel! could it conscience ease, A wife so lovely and so fond to tease? Or could he not with her a saint become, And, like a quiet man, repent at home? How different those who now this seat possess! No idle dreams disturb their happiness. The Lord who now presides o’er Warwick’s towers To nobler purpose dedicates his powers; No deeds of horror fill his soul with fear, 80 Nor conscience drives him from a home so dear. The lovely Felice of the present day Dreads not her lord should from her presence stray; He feels the charm that binds him to a seat Where love and honour, joy and duty, meet. But forty days could Guy his fair afford; Not forty years would weary Warwick’s lord. He better knows, how charms like hers control All vagrant thoughts, and fill with her the soul; He better knows, that not on mortal strife, 90 Or deeds of blood, depend the bliss of life— But on the ties that first the heart enchain, And every grace that bids the charm remain. Time will, we know, to beauty work despite, And youthful bloom will take with him its flight; But Love shall still subsist, and, undecay’d, Feel not one change of all that Time has made. ON A DRAWING OF THE ELM TREE, UNDER WHICH THE DUKE OF WELLINGTON STOOD SEVERAL TIMES DURING THE BATTLE OF WATERLOO.