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Who dictates and inspires illusive feats,
For knavish purposes! The city, too,
(With shame I speak it,) to her guilty bowers
Allured him, sunk so low in self-respect
As there to linger, there to eat his bread,
Hired minstrel of voluptuous blandishment;
Charming the air with skill of hand or voice,
Listen who would, be wrought upon who might,
Sincerely wretched hearts, or falsely gay.
Such the too frequent tenor of his boast
In ears that relish'd the report ;-but all
Was from his parents happily conceal'd;
Who saw enough for blame and pitying love.
They also were permitted to receive
His last, repentant breath, and closed his eyes,
No more to open on that irksome world
Where he had long existed in the state
Of a young fowl beneath one mother hatch'd
Though from another sprung-of different kind:
Where he had lived, and could not cease to live
Distracted in propensity; content
With neither element of good or ill;
And yet in both rejoicing; man unblest;
Of contradictions infinite the slave,

Till his deliverance, when mercy made him
One with himself, and one with them who sleep."
""Tis strange," observed the solitary, "strange,
It seems, and scarcely less than pitiful,
That in a land where charity provides
For all that can no longer feed themselves,

A man like this should choose to bring his shame
To the parental door; and with his sighs
Infect the air which he had freely breathed
In happy infancy. He could not pine,
Through lack of converse, no, he must have found
Abundant exercise for thought and speech,
In his dividual being, self-review'd,
Self-catechized, self-punish'd. Some there are
Who, drawing near their final home, and much
And daily longing that the same were reach'd,
Would rather shun than seek the fellowship
Of kindred mould. Such haply here are laid ?"
"Yes," said the priest," the genius of our hills,
Who seems, by these stupendous barriers cast
Round his domain, desirous not alone
To keep his own, but also to exclude
All other progeny, doth sometimes lure,
E'en by this studied depth of privacy,
The unhappy alien hoping to obtain
Concealment, or seduced by wish to find,
In place from outward molestation free,
Helps to internal ease. Of many such
Could I discourse; but as their stay was brief,
So their departure only left behind
Fancies, and loose conjectures. Other trace
Survives, for worthy mention, of a pair
Who, from the pressure of their several fates,
Meeting as strangers, in a petty town
Whose blue roofs ornament a distant reach
Of this far winding vale, remain'd as friends
True to their choice; and gave their bones in trust
To this loved cemetery, here to lodge
With unescutcheon'd privacy interr'd
Far from the family vault. A chieftain one
By right of birth; within whose spotless breast
The fire of ancient Caledonia burn'd.

He, with the foremost whose impatience hail'd
The Stuart, landing to resume, by force
Of arms, the crown which bigotry had lost,
Aroused his clan; and, fighting at their head,
With his brave sword endeavour'd to prevent
Culloden's fatal overthrow. Escaped

From that disastrous rout, to foreign shores
He fled; and when the lenient hand of time
Those troubles had appeased, he sought and gain'd,
For his obscured condition, an obscure
Retreat, within this nook of English ground.
The other, born in Britain's southern tract,
Had fix'd his milder loyalty, and placed

His gentler sentiments of love and hate,
There, where they placed them who in conscience

prized

The new succession, as a line of kings
Whose oath had virtue to protect the land
Against the dire assaults of papacy
And arbitrary rule. But launch thy bark
On the distemper'd flood of public life,
And cause for most rare triumph will be thine,
If, spite of keenest eye and steadiest hand,

The stream, that bears thee forward, prove not, soon
Or late, a perilous master. He, who oft,
Under the battlements and stately trees
That round his mansion cast a sober gloom,
Had moralized on this, and other truths
Of kindred import, pleased and satisfied,
Was forced to vent his wisdom with a sigh
Heaved from the heart in fortune's bitterness,
When he had crush'd a plentiful estate
By ruinous contest, to obtain a seat
In Britain's senate. Fruitless was the attempt:
And while the uproar of that desperate strife
Continued yet to vibrate on his ear,
The vanquish'd whig, beneath a borrow'd name,
(For the mere sound and echo of his own
Haunted him with sensations of disgust
That he was glad to lose,) slunk from the world
To the deep shade of these untravell'd wilds;
In which the Scottish laird had long possess'd
An undisturb'd abode. Here, then, they met,
Two doughty champions; flaming Jacobite
And sullen Hanoverian! You might think
That losses and vexations, less severe
Than those which they had severally sustain❜d,
Would have inclined each to abate his zeal
For his ungrateful cause; no,-I have heard
My reverend father tell that, 'mid the calm
Of that small town encountering thus, they fill'd,
Daily, its bowling-green with harmless strife;
Plagued with uncharitable thoughts the church;
And vex'd the market-place. But in the breasts
Of these opponents gradually was wrought,
With little change of general sentiment,
Such change towards each other, that their days
By choice were spent in constant fellowship;
And if, at times, they fretted with the yoke,
Those very bickerings made them love it more.

"A favourite boundary to their lengthen'd walks This churchyard was. And, whether they had come Treading their path in sympathy and link'd In social converse, or by some short space Discreetly parted to preserve the peace, One spirit seldom fail'd t' extend its sway

Over both minds, when they awhile had mark'd
The visible quiet of this holy ground,

And breathed its soothing air; the spirit of hope
And saintly magnanimity; that, spurning
The field of selfish difference, and dispute,
And every care which transitory things,
Earth, and the kingdoms of the earth, create,
Doth, by a rapture of forgetfulness,
Preclude forgiveness, from the praise debarr'd,
Which else the Christian virtue might have claim'd.
There live who yet remember here to have seen
Their courtly figures,-seated on the stump
Of an old yew, their favourite resting place.
But, as the remnant of the long-lived tree
Was disappearing by a swift decay,
They, with joint care, determined to erect,
Upon its site, a dial, that might stand
For public use preserved, and thus survive
As their own private monument; for this
Was the particular spot, in which they wish'd
(And Heaven was pleased t' accomplish the desire)
That, undivided, their remains should lie.

So, where the moulder'd tree had stood, was raised
Yon structure, framing, with th' ascent of steps
That to the decorated pillar lead,

Exchange the shepherd's frock of native gray
For robes with regal purple tinged; convert
The crook into a sceptre :-give the pomp
Of circumstance, and here the tragic muse
Shall find apt subjects for her highest art.
Amid the groves, beneath the shadowy hills,
The generations are prepared; the pangs,
The internal pangs are ready; the dread strife
Of poor humanity's afflicted will

Struggling in vain with ruthless destiny."
"Though," said the priest in answer, "these be
terms

Which a divine philosophy rejects,

We, whose establish'd and unfailing trust

Is in controlling providence, admit

That, through all stations, human life abounds
With mysteries:-for, if faith were left untried,
How could the might, that lurks within her, then
Be shown her glorious excellence—that ranks
Among the first of powers and virtues-proved?
| Our system is not fashion'd to preclude
That sympathy which you for others ask;
And I could tell, not travelling for my theme
Beyond these humble graves, of grievous crimes
And strange disasters: but I pass them by,
Loath to disturb what heaven hath hush'd in peace.
Still less, far less, am I inclined to treat
Of man degraded in his Maker's sight
By the deformities of brutish vice:
For, in such portraits, though a vulgar face
And a course outside of repulsive life
And unaffecting manners might at once

A work of art more sumptuous than might seem
To suit this place; yet built in no proud scorn
Of rustic homeliness: they only aim'd
To ensure for it respectful guardianship.
Around the margin of the plate, whereon
The shadow falls to note the stealthy hours,
Winds an inscriptive legend." At these words
Thither we turn'd, and gather'd, as we read,
The appropriate sense, in Latin numbers couch'd.
Time flies; it is his melancholy task
To bring, and bear away, delusive hopes,
And reproduce the troubles he destroys.
But, while his blindness thus is occupied,
Discerning mortal! do thou serve the will
Of time's eternal master, and that peace
Which the world wants, shall be for thee confirm'd."
"Smooth verse, inspired by no unletter'd muse,"
Exclaim'd the skeptic, " and the strain of thought
Accords with nature's language; the soft voice
Of yon white torrent falling down the rocks
Speaks, less distinctly, to the same effect.
If, then, their blended influence be not lost
Upon our hearts, not wholly lost, I grant,
E'en upon mine, the more are we required
To feel for those among our fellow men,
Who, offering no obeisance to the world,
Are yet made desperate by too quick a sense
Of constant infelicity,'-cut off
From peace like exiles on some barren rock,
Their life's appointed prison; not more free
Than sentinels, between two armies, set,
With nothing better, in the chill night air,
Than their own thoughts to comfort them. Say why Within this ground, were covetous of praise,

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That ancient story of Prometheus chain'd?
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Be recognised by all-" "Ah! do not think,"
The wanderer somewhat eagerly exclaim'd,
"Wish could be ours that you, for such poor gain,
(Gain shall I call it ?-gain of what?—for whom?)
Should breathe a word tending to violate
Your own pure spirit. Not a step we look or
In slight of that forbearance and reserve
Which common human-heartedness inspires,
And mortal ignorance and frailty claim,
Upon this sacred ground, if nowhere else."
"True," said the solitary," be it far
From us to infringe the laws of charity.
Let judgment here in mercy be pronounced;
This, self-respecting nature prompts, and this
Wisdom enjoins; but, if the thing we seek
Be genuine knowledge, bear we then in mind
How, from his lofty throne, the sun can fling
Colours as bright on exhalations bred
By weedy pool or pestilential swamp,
As by the rivulet sparkling where it runs,
Or the pellucid lake."

"Small risk," said I,

"Of such illusion do we here incur ;
Temptation here is none to exceed the truth
No evidence appears that they who rest

Or of remembrance even, deserved or not.
Green is the churchyard, beautiful and green,

Drawn from his vitals? Say what meant the woes Ridge rising gently by the side of ridge,

By Tantalus entail'd upon his race,
And the dark sorrows of the line of Thebes?
Fictions in form, but in their substance truths,
Tremendous truths! familiar to the men
Of long past times, nor obsolete in ours.

A heaving surface-almost wholly free
From interruption of sepulchral stones,
And mantled o'er with aboriginal turf
And everlasting flowers. These dalesmen trust
The lingering gleam of their departed lives

To oral records and the silent heart;

Depository faithful, and more kind

Than fondest epitaphs: for, if that fail,

In power of mind, and eloquent discourse. Tall was her stature; her complexion dark And saturnine; her head not raised to hold

What boots the sculptured tomb? and who can Converse with heaven, nor yet deprest towards earth,

blame,

Who rather would not envy, men that feel
This mutual confidence; if, from such source,
The practice flow,-if thence, or from a deep
And general humility in death?

Nor should I much condemn it, if it spring
From disregard of time's destructive power,
As only capable to prey on things

Of earth and human nature's mortal part.
Yet-in less simple districts, where we see
Stone lift its forehead emulous of stone
In courting notice, and the ground all paved
With commendations of departed worth;
Reading, where'er we turn, of innocent lives,
Of each domestic charity fulfill'd,

And sufferings meekly borne-I, for my part,
Though with the silence pleased that here prevails,
Among those fair recitals also range,

Soothed by the natural spirit which they breathe.
And in the centre of a world whose soil
Is rank with all unkindness, compass'd round
With such memorials, I have sometimes felt,

It was no momentary happiness

But in projection carried, as she walk'd
For ever musing. Sunken were her eyes;
Wrinkled and furrow'd with habitual thought
Was her broad forehead; like the brow of one
Whose visual nerve shrinks from a painful glare
Of overpowering light. While yet a child,
She, 'mid the humble flowerets of the vale,
Tower'd like the imperial thistle, not unfurnish'd
With its appropriate grace, yet rather seeking
To be admired, than coveted and loved.
E'en at that age she ruled, a sovereign queen
Over her comrades; else their simple sports,
Wanting all relish for her strenuous mind,
Had cross'd her, only to be shunn'd with scorn.
O! pang of sorrowful regret for those
Whom, in their youth, sweet study has enthrall'd,
That they have lived for harsher servitude,
Whether in soul, in body, or estate!

Such doom was her's; yet nothing could subdue
Her keen desire of knowledge, nor efface
Those brighter images-by books imprest
Upon her memory, faithfully as stars
That occupy their places-and, though oft

To have one enclosure where the voice that speaks Hidden by clouds, and oft bedimm'd by haze,

In envy or detraction is not heard ;

Which malice may not enter; where the traces

Of evil inclinations are unknown;
Where love and pity tenderly unite
With resignation; and no jarring tone
Intrudes the peaceful concert to disturb
Of amity and gratitude."

"Thus sanction'd,"
The pastor said, "I willingly confine
My narratives to subjects that excite
Feelings with these accordant; love, esteem,
And admiration lifting up a veil,
A sunbeam introducing among hearts
Retired and covert; so that ye shall have
Clear images before your gladden'd eyes
Of nature's unambitious underwood,

And flowers that prosper in the shade. And when
I speak of such among my flock as swerved
Or fell, those only will I single out
Upon whose lapse, or error, something more
Than brotherly forgiveness may attend;
To such will we restrict our notice-else
Better my tongue were mute. And yet there are,
I feel, good reasons why we should not leave
Wholly untraced a more forbidding way,
For strength to persevere and to support,
And energy to conquer and repel ;-
These elements of virtue, that declare
The native grandeur of the human soul,
Are ofttimes not unprofitably shown
In the perverseness of a selfish course:
Truth every day exemplified, no less
In the gray cottage by the murmuring stream
That in fantastic conqueror's roving camp,
Or 'mid the factious senate, unappall'd
While merciless proscription ebbs and flows.
There," said the vicar, pointing as he spake,
"A woman rests in peace; surpass'd by few

Are not to be extinguish'd, nor impair'd.

"Two passions, both degenerate, for they both Began in honour, gradually obtain'd

Rule over her, and vex'd her daily life;

An unrelenting avaricious thrift;

And a strange thraldom of maternal love,
That held her spirit in its own despite,
Bound-by vexation, and regret, and scorn,
Constrain'd forgiveness, and relenting vows,
And tears, in pride suppress'd, in shame conceal'd—
To a poor dissolute son, her only child.
Her wedded days had open'd with mishap,
Whence dire dependence. What could she perform
To shake the burden off? Ah! there was felt,
Indignantly the weakness of her sex.
She mused-resolved, adhered to her resolve;
The hand grew slack in almsgiving, the heart
Closed by degrees to charity; heaven's blessing
Not seeking from that source, she placed her trust
In ceaseless pains and parsimonious care,
Which got, and sternly hoarded each day's gain.
"Thus all was re-establish'd, and a pile
Constructed, that sufficed for every end
Save the contentment of the builder's mind;
A mind by nature indisposed to aught
So placid, so inactive, as content;
A mind intolerant of lasting peace,
And cherishing the pang which it deplored.
Dread life of conflict! which I oft compared
To th' agitation of a brook that runs
Down rocky mountains-buried now and lost
In silent pools, now in strong eddies chain'd,-
But never to be charm'd to gentleness;
Its best attainment fits of such repose
As timid eyes might shrink from fathoming.
"A sudden illness seized her in the strength
Of life's autumnal season. Shall I tell
How on her bed of death the matron lay,

1

To providence submissive, so she thought;
But fretted, vex'd, and wrought upon-almost
To anger, by the malady that griped
Her prostrate frame with unrelaxing power,
As the fierce eagle fastens on the lamb?
She pray'd, she moan'd-her husband's
watch'd

Now she is not; the swelling turf reports
Of the fresh shower, but of poor Ellen's tears
Is silent; nor is any vestige left

Of the path worn by mournful tread of her
Who, at her heart's light bidding, once had moved
sister In virgin fearlessness, with step that seem'd
Caught from the pressure of elastic turf
Upon the mountains gemm'd with morning dew,
In the prime hour of sweetest scents and airs.
Serious and thoughtful was her mind; and yet,
By reconcilement exquisite and rare,
The form, port, motions of this cottage girl
Were such as might have quicken'd and inspired
A Titian's hand, addrest to picture forth
Oread or Dryad glancing through the shade
What time the hunter's earliest horn is heard
Startling the golden hills. A wide spread elm
Stands in our valley, named the Joyful Tree ;
From dateless usage which our peasants hold
Of giving welcome to the first of May
By dances round its trunk. And if the sky
Permit, like honours, dance and song, are paid
To the Twelfth Night, beneath the frosty stars
Or the clear moon. The queen of these gay sports,
If not in beauty yet in sprightly air,
Was hapless Ellen. No one touch'd the ground
So deftly, and the nicest maiden's locks
Less gracefully were braided; but this praise,
Methinks, would better suit another place.

Her dreary pillow, waited on her needs;
And yet the very sound of that kind foot
Was anguish to her ears! And must she rule,'
This was the dying woman heard to say
In bitterness, and must she rule and reign,
Sole mistress of this house, when I am gone?
Sit by my fire-possess what I possess❜d-
Tend what I tended-calling it her own!'
Enough ;-I fear, too much. One vernal evening,
While she was yet in prime of health and strength
I well remember, while I pass'd her door,
Musing with loitering step, and upward eye
Turn'd towards the planet Jupiter that hung
Above the centre of the vale, a voice
Roused me, her voice; it said, 'that glorious star
In its untroubled element will shine
As now it shines, when we are laid in earth
And safe from all our sorrows.' She is safe,
And her uncharitable acts, I trust,
And harsh unkindnesses, are all forgiven;
Though, in this vale remember'd with deep awe!"

The vicar paused; and toward a seat advanced,
A long stone seat, fix'd in the churchyard wall;
Part shaded by cool sycamore, and part
Offering a sunny resting place to them
Who seek the house of worship, while the bells
Yet ring with all their voices, or before
The last hath ceased its solitary knoll.
Under the shade we all sate down; and there
His office, uninvited, he resumed.

"As on a sunny bank, a tender lamb
Lurks in safe shelter from the winds of March,
Screen'd by its parent, so that little mound
Lies guarded by its neighbour; the small heap
Speaks for itself;-an infant there doth rest,
The sheltering hillock is the mother's grave.
If mild discourse, and manners that conferr'd
A natural dignity on humblest rank!

If gladsome spirits, and benignant looks,
That for a face not beautiful did more

Than beauty for the fairest face can do:

And if religious tenderness of heart,
Grieving for sin, and penitential tears

Shed when the clouds had gather'd and distain'd
The spotless ether of a maiden life;

If these may make a hallow'd spot of earth
More holy in the sight of God or man;
Then, o'er that mould, a sanctity shall brood
Till the stars sicken at the day of doom.

"Ah! what a warning for a thoughtless man,
Could field or grove, could any spot of earth,
Show to his eye an image of the pangs
Which it hath witness'd; render back an echo
Of the sad steps by which it hath been trod!
There by her innocent baby's precious grave,
Yea, doubtless, on the turf that roofs her own,
The mother oft was seen to stand, or kneel
In the broad day, a weeping Magdalene.

"She loved, and fondly deem'd herself beloved.
The road is dim, the current unperceived,
The weakness painful and most pitiful,
By which a virtuous woman, in pure youth,
May be deliver'd to distress and shame.

Such fate was hers. The last time Ellen danced,
Among her equals, round the Joyful Tree,
She bore a secret burden; and full soon
Was left to tremble for a breaking vow,-
Then, to bewail a sternly-broken vow,
Alone, within her widow'd mother's house.
It was the season sweet, of budding leaves,
Of days advancing toward their utmost length,
And small birds singing to their happy mates.
Wild is the music of the autumnal wind
Among the faded woods; but these blithe notes
Strike the deserted to the heart;-I speak
Of what I know, and what we feel within.
Beside the cottage in which Ellen dwelt
Stands a tall ash tree; to whose topmost twig
A thrush resorts, and annually chants,
At morn and evening from that naked perch,
While all the undergrove is thick with leaves,
A time-beguiling ditty, for delight
Of his fond partner, silent in the nest.

Ah, why,' said Ellen, sighing to herself,

Why do not words, and kiss, and solemn pledge; And nature that is kind in woman's breast, And reason that in man is wise and good, And fear of Him who is a righteous judge, Why do not these prevail for human life, To keep two hearts together, that began Their spring-time with one love, and that have need Of mutual pity and forgiveness, sweet To grant, or be received; while that poor birdO come and hear him! thou who hast to me Been faithless, hear him, though a lowly creature

One of God's simple children that yet know not
The universal Parent, how he sings
As if he wish'd the firmament of heaven
Should listen, and give back to him the voice
Of his triumphant constancy and love;
The proclamation that he makes, how far
His darkness doth transcend our fickle light!'
"Such was the tender passage, not by me
Repeated without loss of simple phrase,
Which I perused, even as the words had been
Committed by forsaken Ellen's hand
To the blank margin of a valentine,

Their slender means; so, to that parent's care
Trusting her child, she left their common home
And with contented spirit undertook
A foster-mother's office.

"Tis, perchance,

Unknown to you that in these simple vales
The natural feeling of equality

Is by domestic service unimpair'd;

Yet, though such service be, with us, removed
From sense of degradation, not the less
Th' ungentle mind can easily find means
T'impose severe restraints and laws unjust,

Bedropp'd with tears. "Twill please you to be told Which hapless Ellen now was doom'd to feel;

That, studiously withdrawing from the eye
Of all companionship, the sufferer yet
In lonely reading found a meek resource;
How thankful for the warmth of summer days,
When she could slip into the cottage barn,
And find a secret oratory there;
Or, in the garden, under friendly veil
Of their long twilight, pore upon her book
By the last lingering help of open sky,
Till the dark night dismiss'd her to her bed!
Thus did a waking fancy sometimes lose
Th' unconquerable pang of despised love.

For (blinded by an over-anxious dread
Of such excitement and divided thought
As with her office would but ill accord)
The pair, whose infant she was bound to nurse,
Forbad her all communion with her own;
Week after week, the mandate they enforced.
So near! yet not allow'd, upon that sight
To fix her eyes-alas! 'twas hard to bear!
But worse affliction must be borne-far worse;
For 'tis Heaven's will-that, after a disease
Begun and ended within three days' space,
Her child should die; as Ellen now exclaim'd,
Her own-deserted child! Once, only once,
She saw it in that mortal malady;

And, on the burial day, could scarcely gain
Permission to attend its obsequies.

She reach'd the house-last of the funeral train;
And some one, as she enter'd, having chanced
To urge unthinkingly their prompt departure,
storm,Nay,' said she, with commanding look, a spirit
Of
anger never seen in her before,

"A kindlier passion open'd on her soul
When that poor child was born. Upon its face
She look'd as on a pure and spotless gift
Of unexpected promise, where a grief
Or dread was all that had been thought of-joy
Far livelier than bewilder'd traveller feels
Amid a perilous waste, that all night long
Hath harass'd him—toiling through fearful
When he beholds the first pale speck serene
Of dayspring, in the gloomy east reveal'd,
And greets it with thanksgiving. 'Till this hour,'
Thus, in her mother's hearing Ellen spake,
There was a stony region in my heart;
But He, at whose command the parched rock
Was smitten, and pour'd forth a quenching stream,
Hath soften'd that obduracy, and made
Unlook'd for gladness in the desert place,
To save the perishing; and, henceforth, I look
Upon the light with cheerfulness, for thee,
My infant and for that good mother dear,

Nay, ye must wait my time!' and down she sate
And by the unclosed coffin kept her seat
Weeping and looking, looking on and weeping,
Upon the last sweet slumber of her child,
Until at length her soul was satisfied.

"You see the infant's grave; and to this spot,
The mother, oft as she was sent abroad,
And whatsoe'er the errand, urged her steps:
Hither she came; here stood, and sometimes knelt
In the broad day-a rueful Magdalene!
So call her; for not only she bewail'd

Who bore me, and hath pray'd for me in vain ;- A mother's loss, but mourn'd in bitterness
Yet not in vain, it shall not be in vain.'
She spake, nor was th' assurance unfulfill'd,
And if heartrending thoughts would oft return,
They stay'd not long. The blameless infant grew;
The child whom Ellen and her mother loved
They soon were proud of; tended it and nursed,
A soothing comforter, although forlorn;
Like a poor singing bird from distant lands;
Or a choice shrub, which he, who passes by
With vacant mind, not seldom may observe
Fair flowering in a thinly peopled house,
Whose window, somewhat sadly, it adorns.

Her own transgression, penitent sincere
As ever raised to heaven a streaming eye.
At length the parents of the foster child,
Noting that in despite of their commands
She still renew'd and could not but renew
Those visitations, ceased to send her forth;
Or, to the garden's narrow bounds, confined.
I fail'd not to remind them that they err'd;
For holy nature might not thus be cross'd,
Thus wrong'd in woman's breast: in vain I
pleaded-

But the green stalk of Ellen's life was snapp'd,

Through four months' space the infant drew its And the flower droop'd; as every eye could see,

food

From the maternal breast; then scruples rose;
Thoughts, which the rich are free from, came and
cross'd

The sweet affection. She no more could bear
By her offence to lay a twofold weight

On a kind parent willing to forget

It hung its head in mortal languishment.
Aided by this appearance, I at length
Prevail'd; and from those bonds released, she went
Home to her mother's house. The youth was fled;
The rash betrayer could not face the shame
Or sorrow which his senseless guilt had caused;
And little would his presence, or proof given

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