“Be mine?” and joy o’er all her features ran; “I will!” she softly whisper’d; but the roar Of cannon would not strike his spirit more; Ev’n as his lips the lawless contract seal’d He felt that conscience lost her seven-fold shield, And honour fled; but still he spoke of love, And all was joy in the consenting dove. That evening all in fond discourse was spent, } When the sad lover to his chamber went, } To think on what had past, to grieve and to repent. 700} Early he rose, and look’d with many a sigh On the red light that fill’d the eastern sky; Oft had he stood before, alert and gay, To hail the glories of the new-born day; But now dejected, languid, listless, low, He saw the wind upon the water blow, And the cold stream curl’d onward as the gale From the pine-hill blew harshly down the dale. On the right side the youth a wood survey’d, With all its dark intensity of shade; 710 Where the rough wind alone was heard to move, In this, the pause of nature and of love, When now the young are rear’d, and when the old, Lost to the tie, grow negligent and cold— Far to the left he saw the huts of men, Half hid in mist, that hung upon the fen; Before him swallows, gathering for the sea, Took their short flights, and twitter’d on the lea; And near the bean-sheaf stood, the harvest done, And slowly blacken’d in the sickly sun; 720 All these were sad in nature, or they took Sadness from him, the likeness of his look, And of his mind—he ponder’d for a while, Then met his Fanny with a borrow’d smile. Not much remain’d; for money and my lord Soon made the father of the youth accord; His prudence half resisted, half obey’d, And scorn kept still the guardians of the maid. Cecilia never on the subject spoke, She seem’d as one who from a dream awoke; 730 So all was peace, and soon the married pair Fix’d with fair fortune in a mansion fair. Five years had past, and what was Henry then? The most repining of repenting men; With a fond, teasing, anxious wife, afraid Of all attention to another paid; Yet, powerless she her husband to amuse Lives but t’ entreat, implore, resent, accuse; Jealous and tender, conscious of defects, She merits little, and yet much expects; 740 She looks for love that now she cannot see, And sighs for joy that never more can be; On his retirements her complaints intrude, And fond reproof endears his solitude; While he her weakness (once her kindness) sees, And his affections in her languor freeze; Regret, uncheck’d by hope, devours his mind, He feels unhappy, and he grows unkind. “Fool! to be taken by a rosy cheek, And eyes that cease to sparkle or to speak; 750 Fool! for this child my freedom to resign, When one, the glory of her sex, was mine; While from this burthen to my soul I hide, To think what Fate has dealt, and what denied.