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 hero'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 inmost 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, 'tis 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 yon; 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 yon fair moon,
And yon 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.

0 ! 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 con-
fide,'-

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, Cecilia absent, and his Fanny by.

0 ! 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!

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

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

80 near :

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,
Hear 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
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 merey, hear me
now!-

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?

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 affrighten'd 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,

plain,

My better self-and we shall meet again. -
Sir, I entreat-Then be entreaty made
To her, a woman, one you may persuade;

implore

I

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,

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 her divide your
heart,

For she would die ere lost 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; Nor 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 missLet 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.'

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,