The world look'd on, and construed, as it still Interprets, all it knows not into ill. "Man's home is sacred," flattering proverbs say; Yes, if you give the home to men's survey, But if that sanctum be obscured or screen'd, In every shadow doubt suggests a fiend: So churchyards seen beneath a daylight sky Are holy to the clown who saunters by; But vex his vision by the glimmering light, And straight the holiness expires in fright; He hears a goblin in the whispering grass, And cries "Heaven save us!"--at the Parson's ass! "Was ever Lord so newly wed so cold? Poor thing!--forsaken ere a year be told! Doubtless some wanton--whom we know not, true, But those proud sinners are so wary too! Oh! for the good old days--one never heard Of men so shocking under George the Third!" So ran the gossip. With the gossip came The brood it hatch'd--consolers to the dame. The soft and wily wooers, who begin Through sliding pity, the smooth ways to sin. My lord is absent at the great debate, Go, soothe his lady's unprotected state; Go, gallant,--go, and wish the cruel Heaven To thee such virtue, now so wrong'd, had given! Yes, round her flock'd the young world's fairest ones, The soft Rose-Garden's incense-breathing sons: Roused from his calm, Lord Ruthven's watchful eye Mark'd the new clouds that darken'd round his sky; And raptured saw--though for his earth too far-- How fleets and fades each cloud before that stainless Star. VI. Now came the graver trial, though unseen By him who knew not where the grief had been-- He knew not that an earlier love had steel'd Her heart to his--that curse, at least conceal'd; Enough of sorrow in his lonely lot-- The why, what matter--that she loved him not? One night, when Revel was in Ruthven's hall, He near'd the brilliant cynosure of all: "Deign" (thus he whisper'd) "to receive with grace Him who may hold the honours of my race:-- When the last Ruthven dies, behold his heir!" He said, she turn'd--O Heaven!--and Harcourt there! Harcourt the same as when her glance he charm'd, For surer conquest by compassion arm'd-- The same, save where a softer shadow, cast O'er his bright looks, reflected the sad Past! Now, when unguarded and in crowds alone, The Future dark--the household gods o'erthrown; Now, when those looks (that seem, the while they grieve, Ne'er to reproach)--can pity best deceive; The sole affection she of right can claim-- Now, Virtue, tremble not--the Tempter came! VII.