Our early pleasures, Reason’s first-drawn schemes, } Youth’s strong illusions, Love’s delirious dreams; } Then from her book he would presume to ask A song of praise, and she perform’d the task. 650 The clock struck twelve—He started—‘Must I go?’ His looks spoke plainly, and the lady’s, ‘No;’ So down he sat—and, when the clock struck one, There was no start, no effort to be gone; Nor stay’d discourse—— “And so your loves were cross’d, And the loved object to your wishes lost? But was she faithless, or were you to blame? I wish I knew her—Will you tell her name?”— “Excuse me—that would hurt her if alive; And, if no more, why should her fault survive?” 660 “But love you still?”— “Alas! I feel I do, When I behold her very looks in you!”— “Yet, if the frail one’s name must not be known, My friendly guest may trust me with his own.” This done, the lady paused, and then replied— It grieves me much to see your spirit tried;— But she was like me—how I came to know The lamb that stray’d I will hereafter show.— We were indeed as sisters——Should I state Her quiet end, you would no longer hate; 670 I see your heart—and I shall quickly prove, Though she deserved not, yet she priced your love: Long as she breathed was heard her William’s name— And such affection half absolves her shame. “Weep not, but hear me, how I came to know Thee and thy Frances—this to heaven I owe; And thou shalt view the pledge, the very ring, The birth-day token—well you know the thing; ‘This,’ if I ever—thus I was to speak, As she had spoken—but I see you weak: 680 She was not worthy——” “O! you cannot tell By what accursed means my Fanny fell! What bane, compulsion, threats—for she was pure; But from such toils what being is secure? Force, not persuasion, robb’d me——” “You are right; So has she told me, in her Maker’s sight: She loved not vice——” “O! no—her heart approved All that her God commanded to be loved; And she is gone”—— “Consider! death alone Could for the errors of her life atone.”— 690 “Speak not of them; I would she knew how dear I hold her yet!—But dost thou give the tear To my loved Frances?—No! I cannot part With one who has her face, who has her heart. With looks so pleasing, when I thee behold, She lives—that bosom is no longer cold— Then tell me—Art thou not—in pity speak— One whom I sought, while living meant to seek— Art thou my Fanny?—Let me not offend— Be something to me—be a sufferer’s friend— 700 Be more—be all! ——The precious truth confess— } Art thou not Frances?”—— } “O, my William! yes! } But spare me, spare thyself, and suffer less. }