Cause of his sternness, and then join'd our tears: Kindly he strove our feelings to repress, But died, and left us heirs to his distress. The rich, as humble friends, my sisters chose; I with a wealthy widow sought repose; Who with a chilling frown her friend received, Bade me rejoice, and wonder'd that I grieved: In vain my anxious lover tried his skill, To rise in life, he was dependent still: We met in grief, nor can I paint the fears Of these unhappy, troubled, trying years: Our dying hopes and stronger fears between, We felt no season peaceful or serene; Our fleeting joys, like meteors in the night, Shone on our gloom with inauspicious light; And then domestic sorrows, till the mind, Worn with distresses, to despair inclined; Add too the ill that from the passion flows, When its contemptuous frown the world bestows, The peevish spirit caused by long delay, When, being gloomy, we contemn the gay, When, being wretched, we incline to hate And censure others in a happier state; Yet loving still, and still compell'd to move In the sad labyrinth of lingering love: While you, exempt from want, despair, alarm, May wed--oh! take the Farmer and the Farm." "Nay," said the nymph, "joy smiled on you at last?" "Smiled for a moment," she replied, "and pass'd: My lover still the same dull means pursued, Assistant call'd, but kept in servitude; His spirits wearied in the prime of life, By fears and wishes in eternal strife; At length he urged impatient--'Now consent; With thee united, Fortune may relent.' I paused, consenting; but a Friend arose, Pleased a fair view, though distant, to disclose; From the rough ocean we beheld a gleam Of joy, as transient as the joys we dream; By lying hopes deceived, my friend retired, And sail'd--was wounded--reach'd us--and expired! You shall behold his grave; and when I die, There--but 'tis folly--I request to lie." "Thus," said the lass, "to joy you bade adieu! But how a widow?--that cannot be true: Or was it force, in some unhappy hour, That placed you, grieving, in a tyrant's power?" "Force, my young friend, when forty years are fled, Is what a woman seldom has to dread; She needs no brazen locks nor guarding walls, And seldom comes a lover though she calls: Yet, moved by fancy, one approved my face, Though time and tears had wrought it much disgrace. "The man I married was sedate and meek, And spoke of love as men in earnest speak; Poor as I was, he ceaseless sought for years, A heart in sorrow and a face in tears: That heart I gave not; and 'twas long before I gave attention, and then nothing more: But in my breast some grateful feeling rose, For one whose love so sad a subject chose; Till long delaying, fearing to repent, But grateful still, I gave a cold assent. Thus we were wed; no fault had I to find, And he but one: my heart could not be kind: Alas! of every early hope bereft, There was no fondness in my bosom left; So had I told him, but had told in vain,