The morn was pleasant, and the ancient maid With her fair niece about the mansion stray’d; There was no room without th’ appropriate tale Of blood and murder, female sprite or male; There was no picture that th’ historic dame Pass’d by and gave not its peculiar fame; The births, the visits, weddings, burials, all That chanced for ages at the noble Hall. These, and each revolution, she could state, And give strange anecdotes of love and hate; 350 This was her first delight, her pride, her boast; } She told of many an heiress, many a toast, } Of Lady Ellen’s flight, of Lord Orlando’s ghost; } The maid turn’d pale, and what should then ensue But wine and cake—the dame was frighten’d too. The aunt and niece now walk’d about the grounds, And sometimes met the gentry in their rounds; “Do let us turn!” the timid girl exclaim’d— “Turn!” said the aunt, “of what are you ashamed? What is there frightful in such looks as those? 360 What is it, child, you fancy or suppose? Look at Lord Robert, see if you can trace More than true honour in that handsome face! What! you must think, by blushing in that way, My lord has something about love to say; But I assure you that he never spoke Such things to me in earnest or in joke; And yet I meet him in all sorts of times, When wicked men are thinking of their crimes. There! let them pass——Why, yes, indeed ’tis true 370} That was a look, and was design’d for you; } But what the wonder when the sight is new? } For my lord’s virtue you may take my word, He would not do a thing that was absurd.” A month had pass’d; “And when will Fanny come?” The lover ask’d, and found the parents dumb; They had not heard for more than half the space, And the poor maiden was in much disgrace. Silence so long they could not understand— And this of one who wrote so neat a hand; 380 Their sister sure would send, were aught amiss; But youth is thoughtless—there is hope in this. As time elapsed, their wonder changed to wo: William would lose another day, and go. Yet, if she should be wilful and remain, He had no power to take her home again. But he would go.—He went, and he return’d— And in his look the pair his tale discern’d; Stupid in grief, it seem’d not that he knew How he came home, or what he should pursue. 390 Fanny was gone!—her aunt was sick in bed, } Dying, she said—none cared if she were dead; } Her charge, his darling, was decoy’d, was fled! } But at what time, and whither, and with whom, None seem’d to know—all surly, shy, or dumb. Each blamed himself, all blamed the erring maid; They vow’d revenge, they cursed their fate, and pray’d. Moved by his grief, the father sought the place, Ask’d for his girl, and talk’d of her disgrace; Spoke of the villain, on whose cursed head 400 He pray’d that vengeance might be amply shed;