In Harriet’s joy her conquest to discern. She was a mother now, and grieved to find The nursery window caught the eastern wind; What could she do, with fears like these oppress’d? 130 She built a room all window’d to the west; For sure in one so dull, so bleak, so old, She and her children must expire with cold. Meantime the husband murmur’d—“So he might; She would be judged by Cousins—Was it right?” Water was near them, and her mind afloat; The lady saw a cottage and a boat, And thought what sweet excursions they might make; } How they might sail; what neighbours they might take; } And nicely would she deck the lodge upon the lake. 140} She now prevail’d by habit; had her will, And found her patient husband sad and still. Yet this displeased; she gain’d, indeed, the prize, But not the pleasure of her victories; Was she a child to be indulged? He knew She would have right, but would have reason too. Now came the time, when in her husband’s face Care, and concern, and caution she could trace; His troubled features gloom and sadness bore; Less he resisted, but he suffer’d more; 150 His nerves were shook like hers; in him her grief Had much of sympathy, but no relief. She could no longer read, and therefore kept A girl to give her stories while she wept; Better for Lady Julia’s woes to cry, Than have her own for ever in her eye. Her husband grieved; and o’er his spirits came Gloom, and disease attack’d his slender frame; He felt a loathing for the wretched state Of his concerns, so sad, so complicate; 160 Grief and confusion seized him in the day, And the night pass’d in agony away. “My ruin comes!” was his awakening thought, And vainly through the day was comfort sought; “There, take my all!” he said, and in his dream Heard the door bolted, and his children scream. And he was right, for not a day arose That he exclaim’d not, “Will it never close?” “Would it were come!”—but still he shifted on, Till health, and hope, and life’s fair views were gone. 170 Fretful herself, he of his wife in vain For comfort sought—“He would be well again; Time would disorders of such nature heal! O! if he felt what she was doom’d to feel, Such sleepless nights! such broken rest! her frame Rack’d with diseases that she could not name! With pangs like hers no other was oppress’d!” Weeping, she said, and sigh’d herself to rest. The suffering husband look’d the world around, And saw no friend: on him misfortune frown’d; 180 Him self-reproach tormented; sorely tried By threats, he mourn’d, and by disease, he died. As weak as wailing infancy or age, How could the widow with the world engage? Fortune not now the means of comfort gave, Yet all her comforts Harriet wept to have. “My helpless babes,” she said, “will nothing know,” Yet not a single lesson would bestow;