“Meanwhile Theodric, who had years before Learnt England’s tongue, and loved her classic lore, A glad enthusiast now explored the land, Where Nature, Freedom, Art, smile hand in hand: Her women fair; her men robust for toil; Her vigorous souls, high-cultured as her soil; Her towns, where civic independence flings The gauntlet down to senates, courts, and kings; Her works of art, resembling magic’s powers, Her mighty fleets, and learning’s beauteous bowers.— These he had visited, with wonder’s smile, And scarce endured to quit so fair an isle. But how our fates from unmomentous things May rise, like rivers out of little springs! A trivial chance postponed his parting day, And public tidings caused, in that delay, An English jubilee. ’Twas a glorious sight; At eve, stupendous London, clad in light, Poured out triumphant multitudes to gaze; Youth, age, wealth, penury, smiling in the blaze; The illumined atmosphere was warm and bland, And Beauty’s groups, the fairest of the land, Conspicuous, as in some wide festive room, In open chariots passed with pearl and plume. Amidst them he remarked a lovelier mien Than e’er his thoughts had shaped, or eyes had seen; The throng detained her till he reined his steed, And, ere the beauty passed, had time to read The motto and the arms her carriage bore. Led by that clue, he left not England’s shore Till he had known her: and to know her well Prolonged, exalted, bound, enchantment’s spell; For with affections warm, intense, refined, She mixed such calm and holy strength of mind, That, like Heaven’s image in the smiling brook, Celestial peace was pictured in her look. Hers was the brow, in trials unperplexed, That cheered the sad, and tranquillised the vexed; She studied not the meanest to eclipse, And yet the wisest listened to her lips; She sang not, knew not Music’s magic skill, But yet her voice had tones that swayed the will. He sought—he won her—and resolved to make His future home in England for her sake. “Yet, ere they wedded, matters of concern To Cæsar’s court commanded his return, A season’s space,—and on his Alpine way, He reached those bowers, that rang with joy that day: The boy was half beside himself,—the sire, All frankness, honour, and Helvetian fire, Of speedy parting would not hear him speak; And tears bedewed and brightened Julia’s cheek.