Profusely round, till his young heart confess'd That all was beauty, and himself was bless'd. Yet when he traced the wide extended plain, Or clear brook side, he felt a transient pain; The keen regret of goodness, void of pride, To think he could not roam without a guide. Who, guess ye, knew these scenes of home delight Better than Jennet, bless'd with health and sight? Whene'er she came, he from his sports would slide, And catch her wild laugh, listening by her side; Mount to the tell-tale clock with ardent spring, And _feel_ the passing hour, then fondly cling To Jennet's arm, and tell how sweet the breath Of bright May-mornings on the open heath; Then off they started, rambling far and wide, Like Cupid with a wood-nymph by his side. Thus months and months roll'd on, the summer pass'd, And the long darkness, and the winter blast, Sever'd the pair; no flowery fields to roam, Poor Alfred sought his music and his home. What wonder then if inwardly he pined? The anxious mother mark'd her stripling's mind Gloomy and sad, yet striving to be gay As the long tedious evenings pass'd away: 'Twas her delight fresh spirits to supply.-- My girl was sent for--just for company. A tender governess my daughter found, Her temper placid, her instruction sound; Plain were her precepts, full of strength, their power Was founded on the practice of the hour: Theirs were the happy nights to peace resign'd, With ample means to cheer th' unbended mind. The Sacred History, or the volumes fraught With tenderest sympathy, or towering thought, The laughter-stirring tale, the moral lay, All that brings dawning reason into day. There Jennet learn'd by maps, through every land To travel, and to name them at command; Would tell how great their strength, their bounds how far, And show where uncle Charles was in the war. The globe she managed with a timid hand, Told which was ocean, which was solid land, And said, whate'er their diff'rent climates bore, All still roll'd round, though that I knew before.