In fact, the youth was right; She could, but love was dreadful in her sight; Love like a spectre in her view appear’d; The nearer he approach’d the more she fear’d. But knew she, then, this dreaded love? She guess’d That he had guilt—she knew he had not rest; She saw a fear that she could ill define, 320 And nameless terrors in his looks combine. It is a state that cannot long endure, And yet both parties dreaded to be sure. All views were past of priesthood and a gown, George, fix’d on glory, now prepared for town; But first this mighty hazard must be run, And more than glory either lost or won: Yet, what was glory? Could he win that heart And gain that hand, what cause was there to part? Her love afforded all that life affords— 330 Honour and fame were phantasies and words! But he must see her—She alone was seen In the still evening of a day serene; In the deep shade beyond the garden walk They met, and, talking, ceased and fear’d to talk. At length she spoke of parent’s love—and now He hazards all—“No parent, lady, thou! None, none to me! but looks so fond and mild Would well become the parent of my child.” She gasp’d for breath—then sat as one resolved 340 On some high act, and then the means revolved. “It cannot be, my George, my child, my son! The thought is misery!—Guilt and misery shun: Far from us both be such design, O, far! Let it not pain us at the awful bar, Where souls are tried, where known the mother’s part That I sustain, and all of either heart. “To wed with thee I must all shame efface, And part with female dignity and grace: Was I not told, by one who knew so well 350 This rebel heart, that it must not rebel? Were I not warn’d, yet Reason’s voice would cry, ‘Retreat, resolve, and from the danger fly!’ If Reason spoke not, yet would woman’s pride A woman’s will by better counsel guide; And should both Pride and Prudence plead in vain, } There is a warning that must still remain, } And, though the heart rebelled, would ever cry ‘Refrain.’” } He heard, he grieved—so checked, the eager youth Dared not again repeat th’ offensive truth, 360 But stopp’d, and fix’d on that loved face an eye Of pleading passion, trembling to reply; And that reply was hurried, was express’d With bursts of sorrow from a troubled breast; He could not yet forbear the tender suit, Yet dared not speak—his eloquence was mute. But though awhile in silence he supprest The pleading voice, and bade his passion rest, Yet in each motion, in each varying look, In every tender glance, that passion spoke.— 370 Words find, ere long, a passage; and once more He warmly urges what he urged before; He feels acutely, and he thinks, of course, That what he feels his language will enforce; Flame will to flame give birth, and fire to fire,