I left her thus, deep musing, and soon found My daughter, for I traced her by the sound Of Alfred's flageolet; no cares had they, But in the garden bower spent half the day. By starts he sung, then wildest trillings made, To mock a piping blackbird in the glade. I turn'd a corner and approach'd the pair; My little rogue had roses in her hair! She whipp'd them out, and with a downcast look, Conquer'd a laugh by poring on her book. My object was to talk with her aside, But at the sight my resolution died; They look'd so happy in their blameless glee, That, as I found them, I e'en let them be; Though Jennet promised a few social hours 'Midst her old friends, my poultry, and my flowers. She came,--but not till fatal news had wrung Her heart through sleepless hours, and chain'd her tongue. She came, but with a look that gave me pain, For, though bright sunbeams sparkled after rain, Though every brood came round, half run, half fly, I knew her anguish by her alter'd eye; And strove, with all my power, where'er she came, To soothe her grief, yet gave it not a name. At length a few sad bitter tears she shed. And on both hands reclined her aching head. 'Twas then my time the conqueror to prove, I summon'd all my rhetoric, all my love. "Jennet, you must not think to pass through life "Without its sorrows, and without its strife; "Good, dutiful, and worthy, as you are, "You must have griefs, and you must learn to bear." Thus I went on, trite moral truths to string,-- All chaff, mere chaff, where love has spread his wing: She cared not, listen'd not, nor seem'd to know What was my aim, but wiped her burning brow, Where sat more eloquence and living power Than language could embody in an hour. With soften'd tone I mention'd Alfred's name, His wealth, our poverty, and that sad blame Which would have weigh'd me down, had I not told The secret which I dare not keep for gold, Of Alfred's love, o'erheard the other morn. The gardener, and the woodbine, and the thorn; And added, "Though the lady sends you home, "You are but young, child, and a day may come"-- "She has _not_ sent me home," the girl replied, And rose with sobs of passion from my side; "She has _not_ sent me home, dear father, no; "She gives me leave to tarry or to go; "She has not _blamed_ me,--yet she weeps no less, "And every tear but adds to my distress; "I am the cause,--thus all that she has done "Will bring the death or misery of her son. "Jealous he might be, could he but have seen "How other lads approach'd where I have been; "But this man's voice offends his very soul, "That strange antipathy brooks no control; "And should I leave him now, or seem unkind, "The thought would surely wreck his noble mind; "To leave him thus, and in his utmost need! "Poor Alfred! then you will be blind indeed! "I will not leave him."--"Nay, child, do not rave, "What, would you be his menial, be his slave?" "Yes," she exclaim'd, and wiped each streaming eye, "Yes, be his slave, and serve him till I die;