When Homer was his torment and his jest. 190 “George,” said the father, “can at pleasure seize The point he wishes, and with too much ease; And hence, depending on his powers and vain, He wastes the time that he will sigh to gain.” The partial widow thought the wasted days He would recover, urged by love and praise; And thus absolved, the boy, with grateful mind, Repaid a love so useful and so blind; Her angry words he loved, although he fear’d, And words not angry doubly kind appear’d. 200 George, then on manhood verging, felt the charms Of war, and kindled at the world’s alarms; Yet war was then, though spreading wide and far, A state of peace to what has since been war: ’Twas then some dubious claim at sea or land, That placed a weapon in a warrior’s hand; But in these times the causes of our strife Are hearth and altar, liberty and life. George, when from college he return’d, and heard His father’s questions, cold and shy appear’d. 210 “Who had the honours?”—“Honour!” said the youth, “Honour at college!—very good, in truth!”— “What hours to study did he give?”—“He gave Enough to feel they made him like a slave”— And the good vicar found, if George should rise, It would not be by college exercise. “At least the time for your degree abide, And be ordain’d,” the man of peace replied; “Then you may come and aid me while I keep, And watch, and shear, the hereditary sheep; 220 Choose then your spouse.”—That heard the youth, and sigh’d, Nor to aught else attended or replied. George had of late indulged unusual fears And dangerous hopes; he wept unconscious tears;— Whether for camp or college, well he knew He must at present bid his friends adieu; His father, mother, sisters,—could he part With these, and feel no sorrow at his heart? But from that lovely lady could he go? That fonder, fairer, dearer mother?—No! 230 For while his father spoke, he fix’d his eyes } On that dear face, and felt a warmth arise, } A trembling flush of joy, that he could ill disguise— } Then ask’d himself from whence this growing bliss, This new-found joy, and all that waits on this? Why sinks that voice so sweetly in mine ear? What makes it now a livelier joy to hear? Why gives that touch—Still, still do I retain The fierce delight that tingled through each vein— Why at her presence with such quickness flows 240 The vital current?—Well a lover knows. O! tell me not of years,—can she be old? } Those eyes, those lips, can man unmoved behold? } Has time that bosom chill’d? are cheeks so rosy cold? } No, she is young, or I, her love t’ engage, Will grow discreet, and that will seem like age: But speak it not; Death’s equalizing arm Levels not surer than Love’s stronger charm, That bids all inequalities be gone, That laughs at rank, that mocks comparison. 250