Light was her footstep as the silent flakes Of falling snow; her smile was blithe as morn; Her dimple, like the print the berry makes, In some smooth lake, when dropping from the thorn. To snatch her passing accents as she spoke, To see her slender hand, (that future prize) Fling back a ringlet, oft I dared provoke, The gentle vengeance of averted eyes. Yet ah, what wonder, if, when shrinking awe Withheld me from her sight, I broke my chain? Or when I made a single glance my law, What wonder if that law were made in vain? And say, can nought but converse love inspire? What tho' for me her lips have never moved? The vale that speaks but with its feathered choir, When long beheld, eternally is loved. Go then, my muse, 'tis near the gloomy day Of parting; go, and say farewell for me; A sad farewell to her who deigned thee, say, Whate'er engage her, wheresoe'er she be. If slumbering, tell her in my dreams she sways, If speaking, tell her in my words she glows; If thoughtful, tell her in my thoughts she strays, If tuneful, tell her in my song she flows. Tell her that soon my dreams unblest will prove; That soon my words on absent charms will dwell; That soon my thoughts remembered hours will love; That soon my song of vain regrets will tell. Then, in romantic moments, I will frame, Some scene ideal, where we meet at last; Where, by my peril, snatched from wreck or flame, She smiles reward and talks of all the past. Now for the lark she flies my wistful lay. Ah, could the bard some winged warbler be, Following her form, no longer would he say, Go, gentle muse, and bid farewell for me. I write from an inn within a mile of Lady Gwyn's. Another hour and my fate is decided. Adieu. LETTER XXVI At length, with a throbbing heart, I now, for the first time, beheld the mansion of my revered ancestors--the present abode of Lady Gwyn. That unfortunate usurper of my rights was not denied to me; so I alighted; and though Stuart wished much to be present at the interview, I would not permit him; but was ushered by the footman into the sitting-room. I entered with erect, yet gentle majesty; while my Tuscan habit, which was soiled and shrivelled by the brook, gave me an air of complicated distress. I found her ladyship at a table, classifying fossils. She was tall and thin, and bore the remains of beauty; but I could not discover the family face. She looked at me with some surprise; smiled, and begged to know my business. 'It is a business,' said I, 'of the most vital importance to your ladyship's honour and repose; and I lament that an imperious necessity compels me to the invidious task of acquainting you with it. Could anything add to the painful nature of my feelings, it would be to find that I had wounded yours.'