Because ’tis vain to strive our fate to shun; In spite of ghosts, predestined woes would come, And warning add new terrors to our doom. “Yet there are tales that would remove our doubt— The whisper’d tales that circulate about; That in some noble mansion take their rise, 70 And told with secresy and awe, surprise. It seems not likely people should advance, For falsehood’s sake, such train of circumstance; Then the ghosts bear them with a ghost-like grace, That suits the person, character, and place. “But let us something of the kind recite: What think you, now, of Lady Barbara’s spright?”— “I know not what to think; but I have heard A ghost, to warn her or advise, appear’d; And that she sought a friend before she died 80 To whom she might the awful fact confide; Who seal’d and secret should the story keep Till Lady Barbara slept her final sleep, In that close bed, that never spirit shakes, Nor ghostly visitor the sleeper wakes.”— “Yes, I can give that story, not so well As your old woman would the legend tell, But as the facts are stated; and now hear How ghosts advise, and widows persevere.” * * * * * When her lord died, who had so kind a heart, 90 That any woman would have grieved to part, It had such influence on his widow’s mind, That she the pleasures of the world resign’d, Young as she was, and from the busy town Came to the quiet of a village down: Not as insensible to joys, but still With a subdued but half-rebellious will; For she had passions warm, and feeling strong, With a right mind, that dreaded to be wrong.— Yet she had wealth to tie her to the place 100 Where it procures delight and veils disgrace; Yet she had beauty to engage the eye, A widow still in her minority; Yet she had merit worthy men to gain, And yet her hand no merit could obtain; For, though secluded, there were trials made, When he who soften’d most could not persuade; Awhile she hearken’d as her swain proposed, And then his suit with strong refusal closed. “Thanks, and farewell!—give credit to my word, 110 That I shall die the widow of my lord; ’Tis my own will, I now prefer the state— If mine should change, it is the will of fate.” Such things were spoken, and the hearers cried, “’Tis very strange,—perhaps she may be tried.” The lady past her time in taking air, In working, reading, charities, and prayer; In the last duties she received the aid Of an old friend, a priest, with whom she pray’d; And to his mansion with a purpose went, 120 That there should life be innocently spent; Yet no cold vot’ress of the cloister she: Warm her devotion, warm her charity; The face the index of a feeling mind, And her whole conduct rational and kind. Though rich and noble, she was pleased to slide Into the habits of her reverend guide,