University of Virginia Library

Now day awoke, and the rejoicing sun
Rose to the morning chorus of the wood.
Sophia saw and heard, and Anna rous'd
Yet sleeping. Up they sprung, light as two doves;
And now, by fancy dress'd, on Gilbert call
To quit his closet, and the scheme complete
They yesternight had plann'd. Gilbert was ris'n,
And bade the maids good-morrow with his flute.
Sophia heard, and, seizing her guitar,
Tun'd it in haste. They join'd, and altogether
Down the dry path to Adriano's cot
In silence hasted. Thither come, they paus'd,
And, drawing to the window, all at once
Their morning serenade struck up. His flute
In smooth persuasive tones young Gilbert blew,
Sophia lightly touch'd her soft guitar,
And with angelic sweetness Anna sung:

Maria heard, and, startled at the sound,
Sprung from her chair, and threw her book aside,
For she had risen, as her custom was,
At that fine hour when never-loit'ring day
Forsakes his chamber, and the glorious sun
Shames the dull taper Dissipation holds
To light her closing revels. To the door
She tripp'd, and, gently peeping, saw unseen
Who sung, who play'd. Her little heart was glad,
And flutter'd with impatience, like a bird
Newly imprison'd. With supreme delight
She mark'd the song, and hearken'd to its close:
Then lifting cautiously the wooden latch,
The door with silence open'd, stood reveal'd,
And bade her friends good-morrow, with a smile
Improv'd and heighten'd by a glowing blush
Might teach the morning envy. Yes, she blush'd
Where no shame was. For she was meek as good,
And fair as meek. Civility arose,
And ev'ry friend who enter'd shook her hand,
Gave joy, and took a kiss—to thee, fond youth,
With some reluctance giv'n, and not obtain'd,
However sought, on any day but this,
Though she esteems thee much. The board was spread,
And ere the guests were seated came the host,
And, with a smile that made his hoary locks
Lovely as youth, bade welcome. On his child
A thousand hearty blessings he bestow'd,
And kiss'd her thrice and thrice. Then 'gan the chat,
And cheerfully they smil'd at Anna's jest
And Adriano's tale. But little time
Gave they to rest so soon, accustom'd all
At this fine hour to scale the lofty cliff,
Where first the rising sun his beams impress'd
And drank the dew. With one consent they rose,
And, from the wood emerging, clomb the hill,
Oft pausing as they went, to gather breath,
And view the prospect. To the top at last
They come, and drink the wholesome morning breeze,
Parent of health and beauty. There they walk,
And count the village-steeples, woods and farms,
Villas and towns. Now cautiously approach
The awful brink of the bold jutting cliff,
And look delighted on the boundless sea.
Here they remark the azure plain is still
And smooth as marble, cover'd here with sails,
Here streak'd with shadows from above, and here
Ruffled and sparkling like a flood of gems.
Here they behold a chain of rocks half hid,
And gently wash'd by the returning wave.
Here the curl'd waters break upon the shore,
They see the foam, and faintly hear the murmur.
Upon the beach a fisherman they ken
Spreading his nets to dry, his little bark
Riding at anchor; but a mite is he,
His bark a nut-shell. But not long they look,
For story tells of some who gaz'd too much,
And, turning giddy, fell, tremendous thought,
From top to bottom many a fathom down
To certain death. 'Twas like a fall from Heav'n.
So cheerfully they turn'd, and down the hill
With ease descended to the shady cot.
There see them seated, and the good man hear
With many a jest and many a merry tale
Beguiling time, the while Maria brews
The fragrant tea, and fair Sophia waits
And deals about her cakes and butter'd roll.
From such a hand what mortal can refuse?
So to be waited on improves the feast;
'Twould make ambrosia of a peasant's bread,
And fill his cup with nectar. She was fair,
Was exquisitely fair, and knew it not.
Gilbert had told her she was wond'rous plain,
And she believ'd him; flying from her glass,
And underrating ev'ry grace she had.
She courted not the eye, but still withdrew
And gave the way to Anna, nothing vex'd
To be outdone. So was the lovely maid
Quiet and unassuming; quick to serve,
As deeming some atonement might be made,
For want of charms, by readiness to please.
Anna had wit, and heartily she laugh'd
To hear the jest go round; the shuttlecock
Wits love; and ever as it came to her
She struck it smartly, and it swift return'd.
Yet she was generous, and never drew
But in a cause of honour. Her keen stroke
Fell never on the golden shield of truth,
Nor treacherously gave a coward scar
To unarm'd virtue. Say as much of yours,
Ye charitable maidens of threescore,
Ye praters, who delight to steal the wreath
From merit's blister'd hand, who nettles twine
For virtue's tender brow, scourge modest worth,
And grant humility a crown of thorns.
Anna no wreath had envied or despoil'd.
Only at folly, vice, and want of sense
She aim'd her shaft, and only there drew blood.
No surgeon's lancet had a finer edge,
And he that felt it smil'd, content to bleed
To purchase health so easy. Gilbert too,
Provok'd by merriment, had sense and humour,
Which ever as they went kept equal pace,
Like steeds well match'd, and neither lagg'd behind,
Or overran the other. But at home
To graver thoughts he dedicates the day,
Taught by his father, a deserving priest,
To think. A man of rarest worth was he,
And led his children in the paths of truth.
He made them virtuous, and died. So left,
To the small cot that overlooks the vale,
Taking in one wide view the down, the wood,
The cultivated champaign, and the sea,
They came lamenting. Here they liv'd in peace;
A little patrimony all their care,
Sav'd by their father from the scanty dues
Of one small living: better sav'd, he thought,
Than wasted on degrees to make his son
A member of the Church, which oft repays
Endless expence with forty pounds a year
Only for life. So happily they liv'd,
Secure at least from want, though little rais'd
Above the gen'ral herd. O happy state,
And only to be envied! One short year
The pleasant cottage had receiv'd its guests,
And only miss'd them when the dappled morn
Invited to the hill, or silent eve
Drew to the wood and Adriano's cot;
Or when, as now, with early steps they came
To breakfast with Maria. So they sat;
And time was brisk, and with his hasty bell
Twice rung the finish'd hour, not unobserv'd.
Each complimented each to think how soon
Hours speed away, when the delighted ear
Feeds on the converse of the friend we love.
And much was said of life's soon-finish'd race,
And happiness that fled as soon as felt,
Light as the morning cloud: till Gilbert's hand
Drew from his pocket the close-written book
Of choice duets, and all were loud for music.
Then Anna sang, and in delightful fugue
Sophia follow'd. Gilbert blew his flute,
And made the mellow harmony complete.
Then Anna paus'd, and Gilbert's flute was still,
And with soft voice Sophia sang alone.
Some awe she felt, and with a downcast eye
A modest smile and lightly-waving blush
Gave to her song inimitable grace.
Then Gilbert join'd again, and Anna sang,
And swell'd the chorus, till the list'ning ear
Was raptur'd with the sound. And thus they sang:

And so they sang till the clear sun grew warm,
And the cool shade invited. Up they rose,
And to a spreading beech, whose leafy shield
No sun could penetrate, the merry maids
Repair delighted. There the table stands;
In haste Maria brings a seat for each,
And each produces, to amuse the rest,
Her work-bag and her basket. Ev'ry tongue
Was glib. Maria's self had found a voice,
And much she prais'd her friends' more skilful hand,
And much excus'd her own. To work they went,
And Anna taught her how to toil and please,
And give the needle all the painter's art;
And much they chatted, and of well-known youths,
Some loving, some belov'd, some not esteem'd,
In confidence said much; nor shall my Muse
Divulge their secret passions to the world.