The youth’s addresses pleased his favourite maid— } They wish’d for union, but were both afraid; } They saw the wedded poor—and fear the bliss delay’d; } Yet they appear’d a happier lass and swain Than those who will not reason or refrain. William was honest, simple, gentle, kind, Laborious, studious, and to thrift inclined; More neat than youthful peasant in his dress, And yet so careful that it cost him less. 100 He kept from inns, though doomed an inn to keep, And all his pleasures and pursuits were cheap. Yet would the youth perform a generous deed, When reason saw or pity felt the need; He of his labour and his skill would lend, Nay, of his money, to a suffering friend. William had manual arts—his room was graced With carving quaint, that spoke the master’s taste; But if that taste admitted some dispute, He charm’d the nymphs with flageolet and flute. 110 Constant at church, and there a little proud, He sang with boldness, and he read aloud; Self-taught to write, he his example took And form’d his letters from a printed book. I’ve heard of ladies who profess’d to see In a man’s writing what his mind must be; As Doctor Spurzheim’s pupils, when they look Upon a skull, will read it as a book— Our talents, tendencies, and likings trace, And find for all the measure and the place. 120 Strange times! when thus we are completely read By man or woman, by the hand or head! Believe who can—but William’s even mind All who beheld might in his writing find; His not the scratches where we try in vain Meanings and words to construe or explain. But with our village hero to proceed— He read as learned clerks are wont to read; Solemn he was in tone, and slow in pace, By nature gifted both with strength and grace. 130 Black parted locks his polish’d forehead press’d; His placid looks an easy mind confess’d; His smile content, and seldom more, convey’d— } Not like the smile of fair illusive maid, } When what she feels is hid, and what she wills betray’d. } The lighter damsels call’d his manner prim, And laugh’d at virtue so array’d in him; But they were wanton, as he well replied, And hoped their own would not be strongly tried: Yet was he full of glee, and had his strokes 140 Of rustic wit, his repartees and jokes; Nor was averse, ere yet he pledged his love, To stray with damsels in the shady grove; When he would tell them, as they walk’d along, How the birds sang, and imitate their song. In fact, our rustic had his proper taste; } Was with peculiar arts and manners graced— } And Absolon had been, had Absolon been chaste. } Frances, like William, felt her heart incline To neat attire—but Frances would be fine. 150 Though small the farm, the farmer’s daughter knew Her rank in life, and she would have it too: