With this?—I know not; doubtless Fanny knew. Now, of the meeting of a modest maid And sober youth why need we be afraid? And when a girl’s amusements are so few As Fanny’s were, what would you have her do? Reserved herself, a decent youth to find, And just be civil, sociable, and kind, And look together at the setting sun, Then at each other—What the evil done? 260 Then Fanny took my little lord to play, And bade him not intrude on Henry’s way. “O, he intrudes not!” said the youth, and grew Fond of the child, and would amuse him too; Would make such faces, and assume such looks— He loved it better than his gayest books. When man with man would an acquaintance seek, He will his thoughts in chosen language speak; And they converse on divers themes, to find If they possess a corresponding mind; 270 But man with woman has foundation laid, And built up friendship ere a word is said. ’Tis not with words that they their wishes tell, But with a language answering quite as well; And thus they find, when they begin t’explore Their way by speech, they knew it all before. And now it chanced again the pair, when dark, Met in their way, when wandering in the park; Not in the common path, for so they might, Without a wonder, wander day or night; 280 But, when in pathless ways their chance will bring A musing pair, we do admire the thing. The youth in meeting read the damsel’s face, As if he meant her inmost thoughts to trace; On which her colour changed, as if she meant To give her aid, and help his kind intent. Both smiled and parted, but they did not speak— The smile implied, “Do tell me what you seek.” They took their different ways with erring feet, And met again, surprised that they could meet; 290 Then must they speak—and something of the air Is always ready—“’Tis extremely fair!” “It was so pleasant!” Henry said; “the beam Of that sweet light so brilliant on the stream; And chiefly yonder, where that old cascade Has for an age its simple music made; All so delightful, soothing, and serene! Do you not feel it? not enjoy the scene? Something it has that words will not express, } But rather hide, and make th’ enjoyment less: 300} ’Tis what our souls conceive, ’tis what our hearts confess.” } Poor Fanny’s heart at these same words confess’d How well he painted, and how rightly guess’d; And, while they stood admiring their retreat, Henry found something like a mossy seat; But Fanny sat not; no, she rather pray’d That she might leave him, she was so afraid— “Not, sir, of you; your goodness I can trust; But folks are so censorious and unjust, They make no difference, they pay no regard 310 To our true meaning, which is very hard And very cruel; great the pain it cost To lose such pleasure, but it must be lost. Did people know how free from thought of ill