When too the prudent aunt herself confess'd,
Her wishes on the gentle youth would rest;
The maiden's eye with tender passion beam'd,
She dwelt with fondness on the life she schemed ;
The household cares, the soft and lasting ties
Of love, with all his binding charities;
Their village taught, consoled, assisted, fed,
Till the young zealot tears of pleasure shed.
But would her Mother? Ah! she fear'd it wrong
To have indulged these forward hopes so long;
Her mother loved, but was not used to grant
Favours so freely as her gentle aunt.
Her gentle aunt, with smiles that angels wear,
Dispell'd her Lucy's apprehensive tear:
Her prudent foresight the request had made
To one whom none could govern, few persuade;
She doubted much if one in earnest woo'd
A girl with not a single charm endued;
The Sister's nobler views she then declared,
And what small sum for Lucy could be spared;
"If more than this the foolish priest requires,
"Tell him," she wrote, "to check his vain desires."
At length, with many a cold expression mix'd,
With many a sneer on girls so fondly fix'd,
There came a promise - should they not repent,
But take with grateful minds the portion meant,
And wait the Sister's day-the Mother might consent.
And here, might pitying hope o'er truth prevail, Or love o'er fortune, we would end our tale;
For who more blest than youthful pair removed
From fear of want-by mutual friends approved-
Short time to wait, and in that time to live
With all the pleasures hope and fancy give;
Their equal passion raised on just esteem,
When reason sanctions all that love can dream?
Yes! reason sanctions what stern fate denies :
The early prospect in the glory dies,
As the soft smiles on dying infants play
In their mild features, and then pass away.
The Beauty died, ere she could yield her hand In the high marriage by the Mother plann'd; Who grieved indeed, but found a vast relief In a cold heart, that ever warr'd with grief.
Lucy was present when her sister died, Heiress to duties that she ill supplied: There were no mutual feelings, sister arts, No kindred taste, nor intercourse of hearts ; When in the mirror play'd the matron's smile, The maiden's thoughts were trav'lling all the
And when desired to speak, she sigh'd to find Her pause offended; "Envy made her blind: "Tasteless she was, nor had a claim in life "Above the station of a rector's wife; "Yet as an heiress, she must shun disgrace, "Although no heiress to her mother's face: "It is your duty," said th' imperious dame, "(Advanced your fortune) to advance your name,
"And with superior rank, superior offers claim : "Your sister's lover, when his sorrows die,
May look upon you, and for favour sigh; "Nor can you offer a reluctant hand;
"His birth is noble, and his seat is grand."
Alarm'd was Lucy, was in tears-"A fool! "Was she a child in love?-a miss at school? "Doubts any mortal, if a change of state "Dissolves all claims and ties of earlier date?"
The Rector doubted, for he came to mourn
A sister dead, and with a wife return:
Lucy with heart unchanged received the youth,
True in herself, confiding in his truth;
But own'd her mother's change; the haughty dame
Pour'd strong contempt upon the youthful flame;
She firmly vow'd her purpose to pursue,
Judged her own cause, and bade the youth adieu!
The lover begg'd, insisted, urged his pain,
His brother wrote to threaten and complain,
Her sister reasoning proved the promise made,
Lucy appealing to a parent pray'd;
But all opposed the event that she design'd,
And all in vain she never changed her mind;
But coldly answer'd in her wonted way,
That she "would rule, and Lucy must obey."
With peevish fear, she saw her health decline, And cried, "Oh! monstrous, for a man to pine; "But if your foolish heart must yield to love, "Let him possess it whom I now approve;
With larger offers and with bolder claim;
But the stern lady would attend no more
She frown'd, and rudely pointed to the door;
Whate'er he wrote, he saw unread return'd,
And he, indignant, the dishonour spurn'd:
Nay, fix'd suspicion where he might confide,
And sacrificed his passion to his pride.
Lucy, meantime, though threaten'd and distress'd;
Against her marriage made a strong protest:
All was domestic war; the Aunt rebell'd
Against the sovereign will, and was expell'd;
And every power was tried, and every art,
To bend to falsehood one determined heart;
Assail'd, in patience it received the shock,
Soft as the wave, unshaken as the rock :
But while th' unconquer'd soul endures the storm
Of angry fate, it preys upon the form ;
With conscious virtue she resisted still,
And conscious love gave vigour to her will:
But Lucy's trial was at hand; with joy
"Behold your constant boy—
Thursday - was married :—take the paper, sweet,
"And read the conduct of your reverend cheat;
"See with what pomp of coaches, in what crowd
"The creature married of his falsehood proud!
"False, did I ?
say
at least no whining fool;
“And thus will hopeless passions ever cool:
"But shall his bride your single state reproach?
"No! give him crowd for crowd, and coach for
"Oh! you retire; reflect then, gentle miss, "And gain some spirit in a cause like this."
Some spirit Lucy gain'd; a steady soul, Defying all persuasion, all control:
In vain reproach, derision, threats were tried ;
The constant mind all outward force defied,
By vengeance vainly urged, in vain assail'd by pride;
Fix'd in her purpose, perfect in her part,
She felt the courage of a wounded heart;
The world receded from her rising view,
When heaven approach'd as earthly things withdrew;
Not strange before, for in the days of love,
Joy, hope, and pleasure, she had thoughts above,
Pious when most of worldly prospects fond,
When they best pleased her she could look beyond:
Had the young priest a faithful lover died,
Something had been her bosom to divide ;
Now heaven had all, for in her holiest views
She saw the matron whom she fear'd to lose;
While from her parent, the dejected maid
Forced the unpleasant thought, or thinking pray'd.
Surprised, the Mother saw the languid frame, And felt indignant, yet forbore to blame :
Once with a frown she cried, " And do you mean "To die of love-the folly of fifteen ?
But as her anger met with no reply,
She let the gentle girl in quiet die ;
And to her sister wrote, impell'd by pain,
"Come quickly, Martha, or you come in vain."
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