At issue long, as oft the case, The war of words to peace gave place. In truth the visionary Whang Ceas’d now entirely to harangue On this dear theme:—he hated _doubt_, And Kate had many, staunch and stout: And in a hostile muster, they Gave her the better of the fray. Though silent on his favourite theme, He did resolve, when he _should_ dream, And _find_ th’ anticipated pelf, To _keep_ the secret to _himself_; For he averr’d it “quite vexatious His wife should be so pertinacious.” No passions vain _her_ heart misled: The path of humble peace to tread Was her sole aim; of this secure, She felt content, nor sigh’d for more. She griev’d to find her counsels failing, They were sincere, though unavailing; And oft midst wishes, fears, and sighs, ’Twas thus she would soliloquise:— “My pretty window! that commands Those meadows green, and wooded lands, So sunny, that the latest ray Its panes receive of parting day. O! with what joy, when near it plac’d, I’ve watch’d my husband homeward haste! Or heard, from fair returning late, The welcome sounds of ‘Holla, Kate!’ Through it I trace on every hand Beauties, would grace a fairy-land, And think that, like a grateful eye, It smiles on all beneath the sky. There, too, my sweet geranium blows, And mignionette, and crimson rose, When all without is clad in snows. I doubt me, if a princess feels More joy than that which o’er me steals, When light and morn my slumbers break, And to this blissful scene I wake. I cannot form a wish beside What Heaven’s bounty has supplied, Save that to Whang I could impart The same content that fills my heart; Yield him that thankful state of rest, Or teach to _prize the good possess’d_.”