Classic Poem

DELAY HAS DANGER .

Three weeks had past, and Richard rambles now
Far as the dinners of the day allow;
He rode to Farley Grange and Finley Mere,
That house so ancient, and that lake so clear:
He rode to Ripley through that river gay,
Where in the shallow stream the loaches play,
And stony fragments stay the winding stream,
And gilded pebbles at the bottom gleam,
Giving their yellow surface to the sun,
And making proud the waters as they run:
It is a lovely place, and at the side
Rises a mountain-rock in rugged pride;
And in that rock are shapes of shells, and forms
Of creatures in old worlds, of nameless worms,
Whose generations lived and died ere man,
A worm of other class, to crawl began
There is a town call'd Silford, where his steed
Our traveller rested — He the while would feed
His mind by walking to and fro, to meet,
He knew not what adventure, in the street:
A stranger there, but yet a window-view
Gave him a face that he conceived he knew;
He saw a tall, fair, lovely lady, dress'd
As one whom taste and wealth had jointly bless'd
He gazed, but soon a footman at the door
Thundering, alarm'd her, who was seen no more.

" This was the lady whom her lover bound
In solemn contract, and then proved unsound:
Of this affair I have a clouded view,
And should be glad to have it clear'd by you "

So Richard spake, and instant George replied,
" I had the story from the injured side,
But when resentment and regret were gone,
And pity (shaded by contempt) came on
Frail was the hero of my tale, but still
Was rather drawn by accident than will;
Some without meaning into guilt advance,
From want of guard, from vanity, from chance:
Man's weakness flies his more immediate pain,
A little respite from his fears to gain;
And takes the part that he would gladly fly,
If he had strength and courage to deny.

But now my tale, and let the moral say,
When hope can sleep, there's danger in delay.
Not that for rashness, Richard, I would plead,
For unadvised alliance: No, indeed:
Think ere the contract — but, contracted, stand
No more debating, take the ready hand:
When hearts are willing, and when fears subside,
Trust not to time, but let the knot be tied;
For when a lover has no more to do,
He thinks in leisure, what shall I pursue?
And then who knows what objects come in view?
For when, assured, the man has nought to keep
His wishes warm and active, then they sleep:
Hopes die with fears; and then a man must lose
All the gay visions, and delicious views,
Once his mind's wealth! He travels at his ease,
Nor horrors now nor fairy-beauty sees;
When the kind goddess gives the wish'd assent,
No mortal business should the deed prevent;
But the blest youth should legal sanction seek
Ere yet th' assenting blush has fled the cheek.

And — hear me, Richard, — man has reptile-pride
That often rises when his fears subside;
When, like a trader feeling rich, he now
Neglects his former smile, his humble bow,
And, conscious of his hoarded wealth, assumes
New airs, nor thinks how odious he becomes.

There is a wandering, wavering train of thought
That something seeks where nothing should be sought,
And will a self-delighted spirit move
To dare the danger of pernicious love.

" First be it granted all was duly said
By the fond youth to the believing maid.
Let us suppose with many a sigh there came
The declaration of the deathless flame; —
And so her answer — " She was happy then,
Blest in herself, and did not think of men;
And with such comforts in her present state,
A wish to change it was to tempt her fate:
That she would not; but yet she would confess
With him she thought her hazard would be less;
Nay, more, she would esteem, she would regard express:
But to be brief — if he could wait and see
In a few years what his desires would be." " —

Henry for years read months, then weeks, nor found
The lady thought his judgment was unsound;
" For months read weeks, " she read it to his praise,
And had some thoughts of changing it to days .

And here a short excursion let me make,
A lover tried, I think, for lovers' sake;
And teach the meaning in a lady's mind
When you can none in her expressions find:
Words are design'd that meaning to convey,
But often Yea is hidden in a Nay!
And what the charmer wills, some gentle hints betray.

Then, too, when ladies mean to yield at length,
They match their reasons with the lover's strength,
And, kindly cautious, will no force employ
But such as he can baffle or destroy.

As when heroic lovers beauty woo'd,
And were by magic's mighty art withstood,
The kind historian, for the dame afraid,
Gave to the faithful knight the stronger aid.

A downright No! would make a man despair,
Or leave for kinder nymph the cruel fair;
But " No! because I'm very happy now,
Because I dread th' irrevocable vow,
Because I fear papa will not approve,
Because I love not — No, I cannot love;
Because you men of Cupid make a jest,
Because — — in short, a single life is best. "
A No! when back'd by reasons of such force,
Invites approach, and will recede of course.

Ladies, like towns besieged, for honour's sake,
Will some defence or its appearance make;
On first approach there's much resistance made,
And conscious weakness hides in bold parade;
With lofty looks, and threat'nings stern and proud,
" Come, if you dare, " is said in language loud,
But if th' attack be made with care and skill,
" Come, " says the yielding party, " if you will; "
Then each the other's valiant acts approve,
And twine their laurels in a wreath of love. —

We now retrace our tale, and forward go, —
Thus Henry rightly read Cecilia's No!
His prudent father, who had duly weigh'd,
And well approved the fortune of the maid,
Not much resisted, just enough to show
He knew his power, and would his son should know.

" Harry, I will, while I your bargain make,
That you a journey to our patron take:
I know her guardian; care will not become
A lad when courting; as you must be dumb,
You may be absent; I for you will speak,
And ask what you are not supposed to seek. "

Then came the parting hour, and what arise
When lovers part! expressive looks and eyes,
Tender and tearful, — many a fond adieu,
And many a call the sorrow to renew;
Sighs such as lovers only can explain,
And words that they might undertake in vain.

Cecilia liked it not; she had, in truth,
No mind to part with her enamour'd youth;
But thought it foolish thus themselves to cheat,
And part for nothing but again to meet.

Now Henry's father was a man whose heart
Took with his interest a decided part;
He knew his lordship, and was known for acts
That I omit, — they were acknowledged facts;
An interest somewhere; I the place forget,
And the good deed — no matter — 't was a debt:
Thither must Henry, and in vain the maid
Express'd dissent — the father was obey'd.

But though the maid was by her fears assail'd,
Her reason rose against them, and prevail'd;
Fear saw him hunting, leaping, falling — led,
Maim'd and disfigured, groaning to his bed;
Saw him in perils, duels, — dying, — dead.

But Prudence answer'd, " Is not every maid
With equal cause for him she loves afraid? "
And from her guarded mind Cecilia threw
The groundless terrors that will love pursue.

She had no doubts, and her reliance strong
Upon the honour that she would not wrong:
Firm in herself, she doubted not the truth
Of him, the chosen, the selected youth;
Trust of herself a trust in him supplied,
And she believed him faithful, though untried:
On her he might depend, in him she would confide.

If some fond girl express'd a tender pain
Lest some fair rival should allure her swain,
To such she answer'd, with a look severe.
" Can one you doubt be worthy of your fear? "

My lord was kind, — a month had pass'd away,
And Henry stay'd — he sometimes named a day;
But still my lord was kind, and Henry still must stay:
His father's words to him were words of fate —
" Wait, 't is your duty; 't is my pleasure, wait! "

In all his walks, in hilly heath or wood,
Cecilia's form the pensive youth pursued;
In the gray morning, in the silent noon,
In the soft twilight, by the sober moon,
In those forsaken rooms, in that immense saloon;
And he, now fond of that seclusion grown,
There reads her letters, and there writes his own.

" Here none approach, " said he, " to interfere,
But I can think of my Cecilia here! "

But there did come — and how it came to pass
Who shall explain? — a mild and blue-eyed lass; —
It was the work of accident, no doubt —
The cause unknown — we say " as things fall out; "
The damsel enter'd there, in wand'ring round about:
At first she saw not Henry; and she ran,
As from a ghost, when she beheld a man.

She was esteem'd a beauty through the hall,
And so admitted, with consent of all;
And, like a treasure, was her beauty kept
From every guest who in the mansion slept;
Whether as friends who join'd the noble pair,
Or those invited by the steward there.

She was the daughter of a priest, whose life
Was brief and sad: he lost a darling wife,
And Fanny then her father, who could save
But a small portion; but his all he gave,
With the fair orphan, to a sister's care,
And her good spouse: they were the ruling pair —
Steward and steward's lady — o'er a tribe,
Each under each, whom I shall not describe.

This grave old couple, childless and alone,
Would, by their care, for Fanny's loss atone:
She had been taught in schools of honest fame;
And to the hall, as to a home, she came,
My lord assenting: yet, as meet and right,
Fanny was held from every here's sight,
Who might in youthful error cast his eyes.
On one so gentle as a lawful prize,
On border land, whom as their right or prey,
A youth from either side might bear away.
Some handsome lover of th' inferior class
Might as a wife approve the lovely lass;
Or some invader from the class above,
Who, more presuming, would his passion prove
By asking less, love only for his love.

This much experienced aunt her fear express'd,
And dread of old and young, of host and guest.

" Go not, my Fanny, in their way, " she cried,
" It is not right that virtue should be tried;
So, to be safe, be ever at my side. "

She was not ever at that side; but still
Observed her precepts, and obey'd her will.

But in the morning's dawn and evening's gloom
She could not lock the damsel in her room;
And Fanny thought, " I will ascend these stairs
To see the chapel, — there are none at prayers;
None, " she believed, " had yet to dress return'd,
By whom a timid girl might be discern'd: "
In her slow motion, looking, as she glides,
On pictures, busts, and what she met besides,
And, speaking softly to herself alone,
Or singing low in melancholy tone;
And thus she rambled through the still domain,
Room after room, again, and yet again.

But, to retrace our story, still we say,
To this saloon the maiden took her way;
Where she beheld our youth, and frighten'd ran,
And so their friendship in her fear began.

But dare she thither once again advance,
And still suppose the man will think it chance?
Nay, yet again, and what has chance to do
With this? — I know not: doubtless Fanny knew.

Now, of the meeting of a modest maid
And sober youth why need we be afraid?
And when a girl's amusements are so few
As Fanny's were, what would you have her do?
Reserved herself, a decent youth to find,
And just be civil, sociable, and kind,
And look together at the setting sun,
Then at each other — What the evil done?

Then Fanny took my little lord to play,
And bade him not intrude on Henry's way:

" O, he intrudes not! " said the youth, and grew
Fond of the child, and would amuse him too;
Would make such faces, and assume such looks —
He loved it better than his gayest books.

When man with man would an acquaintance seek,
He will his thoughts in chosen language speak;
And they converse on divers themes, to find
If they possess a corresponding mind;
But man with woman has foundation laid,
And built up friendship ere a word is said:
'Tis not with words that they their wishes tell,
But with a language answering quite as well;
And thus they find, when they begin t' explore
Their way by speech, they knew it all before.

And now it chanced again the pair, when dark,
Met in their way, when wandering in the park;
Not in the common path, for so they might,
Without a wonder, wander day or night;
But, when in pathless ways their chance will bring
A musing pair, we do admire the thing.

The youth in meeting read the damsel's face,
As if he meant her in most thoughts to trace;
On which her colour changed, as if she meant
To give her aid, and help his kind intent.

Both smiled and parted, but they did not speak —
The smile implied, " Do tell me what you seek: "
They took their different ways with erring feet,
And met again, surprised that they could meet;
Then must they speak — and something of the air
Is always ready — " 'Tis extremely fair! "

" It was so pleasant! " Henry said; " the beam
Of that sweet light so brilliant on the stream;
And chiefly yonder, where that old cascade
Has for an age its simple music made;
All so delightful, soothing, and serene!
Do you not feel it? not enjoy the scene?
Something it has that words will not express,
But rather hide, and make th' enjoyment less:
'Tis what our souls conceive, 't is what our hearts confess. "

Poor Fanny's heart at these same words confess'd
How well he painted, and how rightly guess'd;
And, while they stood admiring their retreat,
Henry found something like a mossy seat;
But Fanny sat not; no, she rather pray'd
That she might leave him, she was so afraid.

" Not, sir, of you; your goodness I can trust,
But folks are so censorious and unjust.
They make no difference, they pay no regard
To our true meaning, which is very hard
And very cruel; great the pain it cost
To lose such pleasure, but it must be lost:
Did people know how free from thought of ill
One's meaning is, their malice would be still. "

At this she wept; at least a glittering gem
Shone in each eye, and there was fire in them,
For as they fell, the sparkles, at his feet,
He felt emotions very warm and sweet.

" A lovely creature! not more fair than good,
By all admired, by some, it seems, pursued,
Yet self-protected by her virtue's force
And conscious truth — What evil in discourse
With one so guarded, who is pleased to trust
Herself with me, reliance strong and just? "

Our lover then believed he must not seem
Cold to the maid who gave him her esteem;
Not manly this; Cecilia had his heart,
But it was lawful with his time to part;
It would be wrong in her to take amiss
A virtuous friendship for a girl like this;
False or disloyal he would never prove,
But kindness here took nothing from his love:
Soldiers to serve a foreign prince are known,
When not on present duty to their own;
So, though our bosom's queen we still prefer,
We are not always on our knees to her
" Cecilia present, witness you fair moon,
And you bright orbs, that fate would change as soon
As my devotion; but the absent sun
Cheers us no longer when his course is run;
And then those starry twinklers may obtain
A little worship till he shines again. "

The father still commanded " Wait awhile, "
And the son answer'd in submissive style,
Grieved, but obedient; and obedience teased
His lady's spirit more than grieving pleased:
That he should grieve in absence was most fit,
But not that he to absence should submit;
And in her letters might be traced reproof,
Distant indeed, but visible enough;
This should the wandering of his heart have stay'd;
Alas! the wanderer was the vainer made.

The parties daily met, as by consent,
And yet it always seem'd by accident;
Till in the nymph the shepherd had been blind
If he had fail'd to see a manner kind,
With that expressive look, that seem'd to say,
" You do not speak, and yet you see you may. "

O! yes, he saw, and he resolved to fly,
And blamed his heart, unwilling to comply:
He sometimes wonder'd how it came to pass,
That he had all this freedom with the lass;
Reserved herself, with strict attention kept,
And care and vigilance that never slept:
" How is it thus that they a beauty trust
With me, who feel the confidence is just?
And they, too, feel it; yes, they may confide, " —
He said in folly, and he smiled in pride.

'Tis thus our secret passions work their way,
And the poor victims know not they obey.
Familiar now became the wandering pair,
And there was pride and joy in Fanny's air;
For though his silence did not please the maid,
She judged him only modest and afraid;
The gentle dames are ever pleased to find
Their lovers dreading they should prove unkind,
So, blind by hope, and pleased with prospects gay,
The generous beauty gave her heart away
Before he said, " I love! " — alas! he dared not say.

Cecilia yet was mistress of his mind,
But oft he wish'd her, like his Fanny, kind;
Her fondness soothed him, for the man was vain,
And he perceived that he could give her pain:
Cecilia liked not to profess her love,
But Fanny ever was the yielding dove;
Tender and trusting, waiting for the word,
And then prepared to hail her bosom's lord.

Cecilia once her honest love avow'd,
To make him happy, not to make him proud;
But she would not, for every asking sigh,
Confess the flame that waked his vanity;
But this poor maiden, every day and hour,
Would, by fresh kindness, feed the growing power,
And he indulged, vain being! in the joy,
That he alone could raise it, or destroy;
A present good, from which he dared not fly,
Cecila absent, and his Fanny by

O! vain desire of youth, that in the hour
Of strong temptation, when he feels the power,
And knows how daily his desires increase,
Yet will he wait, and sacrifice his peace,
Will trust to chance to free him from the snare,
Of which, long since, his conscience said, beware!
Or look for strange deliverance from that ill,
That he might fly, could he command the will!
How can he freedom from the future seek,
Who feels already that he grows too weak?
And thus refuses to resist, till time
Removes the power, and makes the way for crime:
Yet thoughts he had, and he would think, " Forego
My dear Cecilia? not for kingdoms! No!
But may I, ought I not the friend to be
Of one who feels this fond regard for me?
I wrong no creature by a kindness lent
To one so gentle, mild, and innocent;
And for that fair one, whom I still adore,
By feeling thus I think of her the more; "
And not unlikely, for our thoughts will tend
To those whom we are conscious we offend.

Had Reason whisper'd, " Has Cecilia leave
Some gentle youth in friendship to receive,
And be to him the friend that you appear
To this soft girl? — would not some jealous fear
Proclaim your thoughts, that he approach'd too near? "

But Henry, blinded still, presumed to write
Of one in whom Cecilia would delight;
A mild and modest girl, a gentle friend,
If, as he hoped, her kindness would descend —
But what he fear'd to lose or hoped to gain
By writing thus, he had been ask'd in vain.

It was his purpose, every morn he rose,
The dangerous friendship he had made to close;
It was his torment nightly, ere he slept,
To feel his prudent purpose was not kept.

True, he has wonder'd why the timid maid
Meets him so often, and is not afraid;
And why that female dragon, fierce and keen,
Has never in their private walks been seen;
And often he has thought, " What can their silence mean?

They can have no design, or plot, or plan, —
In fact I know not how the thing began, —
'Tis their dependence on my credit here,
And fear not, nor, in fact, have cause to fear. "

But did that pair, who seem'd to think that all
Unwatch'd will wander and unguarded fall,
Did they permit a youth and maid to meet
Both unreproved? were they so indiscreet?

This sometimes enter'd Henry's mind, and then,
" Who shall account for women or for men? "
He said, " or who their secret thoughts explore?
Why do I vex me? I will think no more. "

My lord of late had said, in manner kind,
" My good friend Harry, do not think us blind! "
Letters had past, though he had nothing seen,
His careful father and my lord between;
But to what purpose was to him unknown —
It might be borough business, or their own.

Fanny, it seem'd, was now no more in dread,
If one approach'd, she neither fear'd nor fled:
He mused on this, — " But wherefore her alarm?
She knows me better, and she dreads no harm. "

Something his father wrote that gave him pain:
" I know not, son, if you should yet remain; —
Be cautious, Harry; favours to procure
We strain a point, but we must first be sure:
Love is a folly, — that, indeed, is true, —
But something still is to our honour due,
So I must leave the thing to my good lord and you. "

But from Cecilia came remonstrance strong:
" You write too darkly, and you stay too long;
We hear reports; and, Henry, — mark me well, —
I heed not every tale that triflers tell; —
Be you no trifler; dare not to believe
That I am one whom words and vows deceive;
You know your heart, your hazard you will learn,
And this your trial — instantly return. "

" Unjust, injurious, jealous, cruel maid!
Am I a slave, of haughty words afraid?
Can she who thus commands expect to be obey'd?
O! how unlike this dear assenting soul,
Whose heart a man might at his will control! "

Uneasy, anxious, fill'd with self-reproof,
He now resolved to quit his patron's roof;
And then again his vacillating mind
To stay resolved, and that her pride should find:
Debating thus, his pen the lover took,
And chose the words of anger and rebuke.

Again, yet once again, the conscious pair
Met, and " O, speak! " was Fanny's silent prayer;
And, " I must speak, " said the embarrass'd youth,
" Must save my honour, must confess the truth:
Then I must lose her; but, by slow degrees,
She will regain her peace, and I my ease. "

Ah! foolish man! to virtue true nor vice,
He buys distress, and self-esteem the price;
And what his gain? — a tender smile and sigh
From a fond girl to feed his vanity.

Thus, every day they lived, and every time
They met, increased his anguish and his crime.

Still in their meetings they were oft-times nigh
The darling theme, and then past trembling by;
On those occasions Henry often tried
For the sad truth — and then his heart denied
The utterance due: thus daily he became
The prey of weakness, vanity, and shame.

But soon a day, that was their doubts to close,
On the fond maid and thoughtless youth arose
Within the park, beside the bounding brook,
The social pair their usual ramble took;
And there the steward found them: they could trace
News in his look, and gladness in his face

He was a man of riches, bluff and big,
With clean brown broad-cloth, and with white cut wig:
He bore a cane of price, with riband tied,
And a fat spaniel waddled at his side:
To every being whom he met he gave
His looks expressive; civil, gay, or grave,
But condescending all; and each declared
How much he govern'd, and how well he fared.

This great man bow'd, not humbly, but his bow
Appear'd familiar converse to allow:
The trembling Fanny, as he came in view,
Within the chestnut grove in fear withdrew;
While Henry wonder'd, not without a fear,
Of that which brought th' important man so near:
Doubt was dispersed by — " My esteem'd young man! "
As he with condescending grace began — —

" Though you with youthful frankness nobly trust
Your Fanny's friends, and doubtless think them just;
Though you have not, with craving soul, applied
To us, and ask'd the fortune of your bride,
Be it our care that you shall not lament
That love has made you so improvident.

An orphan maid — — Your patience! you shall have
Your time to speak, I now attention crave; —
Fanny, dear girl! has in my spouse and me
Friends of a kind we wish our friends to be,
None of the poorest — — nay, sir, no reply,
You shall not need — — and we are born to die
And one yet crawls on earth, of whom, I say,
That what he has he cannot take away;
Her mother's father, one who has a store
Of this world's good, and always looks for more.
But, next his money, loves the girl at heart,
And she will have it when they come to part. "

" Sir, " said the youth, his terrors all awake,
" Here me, I pray, I beg, — for mercy's sake!
Sir, were the secrets of my soul confess'd,
Would you admit the truths that I protest
Are such — — your pardon " — —

" Pardon! good, my friend,
I not alone will pardon, I commend:
Think you that I have no remembrance left
Of youthful love, and Cupid's cunning theft?
How nymphs will listen when their swains persuade,
How hearts are gain'd, and how exchange is made? —
Come, sir, your hand " — —

" In mercy, hear me now! "
" I cannot hear you, time will not allow:
You know my station, what on me depends,
For ever needed — but we part as friends;
And here comes one who will the whole explain,
My better self — and we shall meet again "

" Sir, I entreat " —
" Then be entreaty made
To her, a woman, one you may persuade;
A little teasing, but she will comply,
And loves her niece too fondly to deny. "

" O! he is mad, and miserable I! "
Exclaim'd the youth; " But let me now collect
My scatter'd thoughts, I something must effect "

Hurrying she came — " Now, what has he confess'd,
Ere I could come to set your heart at rest?
What! he has grieved you! Yet he, too, approves
The thing! but man will tease you, if he loves.

But now for business: tell me, did you think
That we should always at your meetings wink?
Think you, you walk'd unseen? There are who bring
To me all secrets — O, you wicked thing!

Poor Fanny! now I think I see her blush,
All red and rosy when I beat the bush;
And hide your secret, said I, if you dare!
So out it came, like an affrighted hare.

Miss! said I, gravely; and the trembling maid
Pleased me at heart to see her so afraid;
And then she wept; — now, do remember this,
Never to chide her when she does amiss;
For she is tender as the callow bird,
And cannot bear to have her temper stirr'd; —
Fanny, I said. then whisper'd her the name,
And caused such looks — Yes, yours are just the same;
But hear my story — When your love was known
For this our child — she is; in fact, our own —
Then, first debating, we agreed at last
To seek my lord, and tell him what had past "

" To tell the earl? "
" Yes, truly, and why not?
And then together we contrived our plot. "

" Eternal God! "
" Nay, be not so surprised, —
In all the matter we were well advised;
We saw my Lord, and Lady Jane was there,
And said to Johnson, " Johnson, take a chair:"
True, we are servants in a certain way,
But in the higher places so are they;
We are obey'd in ours, and they in theirs obey —
So Johnson bow'd, for that was right and fit,
And had no scruple with the earl to sit —
Why look you so impatient while I tell
What they debated? — you must like it well.

" Let them go on," our gracious earl began;
" They will go off," said, joking, my good man:
" Well!" said the countess, — she's a lover's friend, —
" What if they do, they make the speedier end" —
But be you more composed, for that dear child
Is with her joy and apprehension wild:
O! we have watch'd you on from day to day,
" There go the lovers!" we were wont to say —
" But why that look? "
" Dear madam, I implore
A single moment! "
" I can give no more:
Here are your letters — that's a female pen,
Said I to Fanny — " 'tis his sister's, then,"
Replied the maid. — No! never must you stray;
Or hide your wanderings, if you should, I pray;
I know, at least I fear, the best may err,
But keep the by-walks of your life from her:
That youth should stray is nothing to be told,
When they have sanction in the grave and old,
Who have no call to wander and transgress,
But very love of change and wantonness

I prattle idly, while your letters wait,
And then my lord has much that he would state
All good to you — do clear that clouded face,
And with good looks your lucky lot embrace.

Now mind that none with hers divide your heart,
For she would die ere lose the smallest part;
And I rejoice that all has gone so well,
For who th' effect of Johnson's rage can tell?
He had his fears when you began to meet,
But I assured him there was no deceit:
He is a man who kindness will requite,
But injured once, revenge is his delight;
And he would spend the best of his estates
To ruin, goods and body, them he hates;
While he is kind enough when he approves
A deed that's done, and serves the man he loves:
Come, read your letters — I must now be gone,
And think of matters that are coming on. "

Henry was lost, — his brain confused, his soul
Dismay'd and sunk, his thoughts beyond control!
Borne on by terror, he foreboding read
Cecilia's letter! and his courage fled;
All was a gloomy, dark, and dreadful view,
He felt him guilty, but indignant too:
And as he read, he felt the high disdain
Of injured men — " She may repent, in vain. "

Cecilia much had heard, and told him all
That scandal taught — " A servant at the hall,
Or servant's daughter, in the kitchen bred,
Whose father would not with her mother wed,
Was now his choice! a blushing fool, the toy,
Or the attempted both of man and boy;
More than suspected, but without the wit
Or the allurements for such creatures fit;
Not virtuous though unfeeling, cold as ice
And yet not chaste, the weeping fool of vice;
Yielding, not tender; feeble, not refined;
Her form insipid, and without a mind

Rival! she spurn'd the word; but let him stay,
Warn'd as he was! beyond the present day,
Whate'er his patron might object to this,
The uncle butler, or the weeping miss —
Let him from this one single day remain,
And then return! he would to her, in vain:
There let him then abide, to earn, or crave
Food undeserved! and be with slaves a slave. "

Had reason guided anger, govern'd zeal,
Or chosen words to make a lover feel,
She might have saved him — anger and abuse
Will but defiance and revenge produce.

" Unjust and cruel, insolent and proud! "
He said, indignant, and he spoke aloud.
" Butler! and servant! Gentlest of thy sex,
Thou wouldst not thus a man who loved thee vex;
Thou wouldst not thus to vile report give ear,
Nor thus enraged for fancied crimes appear;
I know not what, dear maid! — if thy soft smiles were here. "

And then, that instant, there appear'd the maid,
By his sad looks in her approach dismay'd;
Such timid sweetness, and so wrong'd, did more
Than all her pleading tenderness before.

In that weak moment, when disdain and pride,
And fear and fondness, drew the man aside,
In this weak moment — " Wilt thou, " he began,
" Be mine? " and joy o'er all her features ran;
" I will! " she softly whisper'd; but the roar
Of cannon would not strike his spirit more;
Ev'n as his lips the lawless contract seal'd
He felt that conscience lost her seven-fold shield,
And honour fled; but still he spoke of love,
And all was joy in the consenting dove.

That evening all in fond discourse was spent,
When the sad lover to his chamber went,
To think on what had past, to grieve and to repent:
Early he rose, and look'd with many a sigh
On the red light that fill'd the eastern sky;
Oft had he stood before, alert and gay,
To hail the glories of the new born day:
But now dejected, languid, listless, low,
He saw the wind upon the water blow,
And the cold stream curl'd onward as the gale
From the pine-hill blew harshly down the dale;
On the right side the youth a wood survey'd,
With all its dark intensity of shade;
Where the rough wind alone was heard to move,
In this, the pause of nature and of love,
When now the young are rear'd; and when the old,
Lost to the tie, grow negligent and cold —
Far to the left he saw the huts of men,
Half hid in mist, that hung upon the fen;
Before him swallows, gathering for the sea,
Took their short flights, and twitter'd on the lea;
And near the bean-sheaf stood, the harvest done,
And slowly blacken'd in the sickly sun;
All these were sad in nature, or they took
Sadness from him, the likeness of his look,
And of his mind — he ponder'd for a while,
Then met his Fanny with a borrow'd smile.

Not much remain'd; for money and my lord
Soon made the father of the youth accord;
His prudence half resisted, half obey'd,
And scorn kept still the guardians of the maid
Cecilia never on the subject spoke,
She seem'd as one who from a dream awoke;
So all was peace, and soon the married pair
Fix'd with fair fortune in a mansion fair

Five years had past, and what was Henry then?
The most repining of repenting men;
With a fond, teasing, anxious wife, afraid
Of all attention to another paid;
Yet powerless she her husband to amuse,
Lives but t' entreat, implore, resent, accuse;
Jealous and tender, conscious of defects,
She merits little, and yet much expects;
She looks for love that now she cannot see,
And sighs for joy that never more can be;
On his retirements her complaints intrude,
And fond reproof endears his solitude:
While he her weakness (once her kindness) sees,
And his affections in her languor freeze;
Regret, uncheck'd by hope, devours his mind,
He feels unhappy, and he grows unkind

" Fool! to be taken by a rosy cheek,
And eyes that cease to sparkle or to speak;
Fool! for this child my freedom to resign,
When one the glory of her sex was mine;
While from this burthen to my soul I hide,
To think what Fate has dealt, and what denied

What fiend possess'd me when I tamely gave
My forced assent to be an idiot's slave?
Her beauty vanish'd, what for me remains?
Th' eternal clicking of the galling chains:
Her person truly I may think my own,
Seen without pleasure, without triumph shown:
Doleful she sits, her children at her knees,
And gives up all her feeble powers to please;
Whom I, unmoved, or moved with scorn, behold,
Melting as ice, as vapid and as cold "

Such was his fate, and he must yet endure
The self-contempt that no self-love can cure:
Some business call'd him to a wealthy town
When unprepared for more than Fortune's frown
There at a house he gave his luckless name,
The master absent, and Cecilia came:
Unhappy man! he could not, dared not speak,
But look'd around, as if retreat to seek:
This she allow'd not; but, with brow severe,
Ask'd him his business, sternly bent to hear;
He had no courage, but he view'd that face
As if he sought for sympathy and grace:
As if some kind returning thought to trace:
In vain; not long he waited, but with air,
That of all grace compell'd him to despair,
She rang the bell, and, when a servant came,
Left the repentant traitor to his shame;
But, going, spoke, " Attend this person out,
And if he speaks, hear what he comes about: "
Then, with cool curtsey, from the room withdrew,
That seem'd to say, " Unhappy man, adieu! "

Thus will it be when man permits a vice
First to invade his heart, and then entice;
When wishes vain and undefined arise,
And that weak heart deceive, seduce, surprise;
When evil Fortune works on Folly's side,
And rash Resentment adds a spur to Pride;
Then Life's long troubles from those actions come,
In which a moment may decide our doom.