University of Virginia Library

Under a poplar's shade that overhung
The noisy brook, upon a painted bench,
Maria sat and slept. But scarce her eyes
Had clos'd, when Ronsart, looking for his friend,
And angry to be left so long alone,
Came scowling to the spot. He saw the maid,
And stood a moment in amazement lost.
His anger ceas'd, and pleasure in its stead
Sat on his brow exulting. So retreats
The morning cloud before the rising sun,
And day that louring wak'd forbears her frown,
And softens to a smile. Nearer the maid
He drew, enraptur'd with her charms. He gaz'd,
And all the villain came into his heart.
He long'd, and yet he fear'd to touch. For vice
Is ever aw'd at goodness, and begins
Her treach'rous act with fear and doubt, asham'd
To see herself so base, and of her prey
Inly despairing, since no pow'r can force
Strong Heav'n, no strength withstand his fiery arm
Who fights for virtue. With a trembling hand
He stole the book and read—he drew away
And kiss'd her handkerchief, and touch'd her hand.
So plays the hungry tiger with his prey,
Whetting his appetite by long restraint.
She mov'd, and sigh'd. He throbb'd with expectation,
And ready stood to catch her in his arms
Soon as her eye-lids rose. She slept again.
He sat beside her, and with curious eye
Survey'd her, as he thought, all unobserv'd:
But close behind him, by a tree conceal'd,
Stood one in rustic habit clad, and watch'd
His guilty motions. To the brook he came,
And saw the maid asleep. Just then he heard
The steps of Ronsart, and withdrew unseen.
So when at last th' impatient youth arose,
And wak'd the maid, and seiz'd her in his arms,
And thought him of his wicked act secure,
Ere he could fix his longing lips on hers,
He aim'd a blow at the young villain's head,
That fell'd him to the earth. 'Twas Gilbert!

Struck
With terror and amaze Maria fled,
But knew 'twas Gilbert. To her sire she came
Just parting from Sophia, out of breath,
And so disorder'd between smiles and tears,
She found no tongue. She took Sophia's hand,
And led her trembling to the brook. They ran,
And Adriano follow'd. Ere they came
Ronsart had risen, and in furious wrath
High-menacing at Gilbert ran. His voice
Drew Fred'rick and his Anna to the spot,
Returning home wearied with fruitless search.
They came in time to see a second blow
Drive Ronsart back, and plunge him in the brook.
Then came Sophia and the injur'd maid,
And Adriano. Fred'rick was enrag'd;
He seiz'd the collar of the man unknown,
And had not seiz'd in vain, but Anna saw
And knew her brother, fair Sophia saw
And knew him. All were satisfied 'twas Gilbert.
So eagerly they ran and kiss'd his cheek,
And hung upon his neck, and wept for joy.
And he wept too, and tenderly caress'd
Thee, dear Maria, and thy breaking heart
Fill'd full with consolation.

Then he turn'd,
And with austere regard on Fred'rick look'd,
Who statue-like in blank astonishment
Stood fix'd, and sternly ask'd him, “what he would
Speedy as lightning Anna ran between,
And cried, “'Tis Frederick!”

“It matters not,”
Said Gilbert, “who it is. The man who thus
“Seizes my throat, must shew me ample cause,
“Or I shall call him to a sharp account,
“Though he be Fred'rick my much-honour'd friend.”

“Who sees his friend,” cried Fred'rick, “thus abus'd,
“Beat to the earth, and wallow'd in the brook,
“And gives him no assistance, is a coward.
“Let him who injur'd Ronsart shew me cause,
“Or I shall call him to a sharp account,
“Though he be Gilbert my much-honour'd friend.

“Then hear,” said Gilbert. “To this spot I came,
“Intending hurt to none. From the loud surge
“But ill escap'd, and climbing the rude cliff
“Through a steep moulder'd gap, at a small hut
“Belonging to the fisher and his son,
“I found this suit, and chang'd it for my own
“All dripping wet. Soon as the tempest ceas'd
“I left the hut thus clad, and tow'rds the wood
“Came with all speed, well knowing these my friends
“And these my sisters had not hearts of steel,
“And might be griev'd at my delay. I saw,
“Just as my weary feet had reach'd this spot,
“This lovely maid upon that bench asleep.
“I saw, and was refresh'd; but had not gaz'd
“A moment's space, ere yonder villain came,
“Thy friend; and I retir'd, and unperceiv'd
“Beheld the dev'lish antic at his wiles.
“I knew his purpose, (for the outward act
“Gives true assurance of the inward mind,)
“And burning with impatience stood awhile,
“Till he all passion seiz'd the helpless maid
“Alone and sleeping, and with touch profane
“Thought to have feasted on those crimson lips
“And that vermilion cheek. I sprung to help her
“And sure my arm had more than usual strength,
“For with one blow I fell'd him to the earth,
“And set the captive free. She fled alarm'd,
“And hardly stay'd to cast one thankful look
“On him who sav'd her—but that gracious smile
“Repays me well. The shameless villain rose,
“And, cursing me by ev'ry name above,
“Ran at my life. The second blow you saw,
“Which plung'd him headlong in the miry brook.
“And if an act like this can need defence,
“I stand prepar'd to give it; for be sure,
“Had it been Fred'rick I had done the same,
“And Fred'rick had deserv'd it.”

“Yes, and more,”
Cried Fred'rick, at his guilty friend incens'd:
“Give me thy pardon, and chastise the boy
“Till double recompence atone the wrong.
“My arm shall lend assistance.”

“No, my friend,”
Said Gilbert, “let him stand aloof, while thus
“We join our hands in friendship. If he dares
“Again to break the peace of this calm wood,
“Again my arm shall teach him to be just.”

“Thy arm shall teach me, ignominious boy!”
Ronsart replied, and haughtily advanc'd:
“O Fred'rick, I'm astonish'd thy cold ear
“Can drink a tale so false. 'Tis all a lie.
“His was the purpose to assault the maid,
“And mine to shield her. By these hazels hid,
“I saw the villain to the bench advance,
“And offer violence. My heart was hot,
“And 'gainst my brave attempt to combat force
“And rescue innocence, his arm prevail'd.
“But think not, Gilbert, to escape me thus.
“If there be courage in thee, and these rags
“Cover no coward's heart, in half an hour
“Meet me again. This be the spot, and come
“Prepar'd for measures that may best acquit
“My injur'd honour.”

“Yes,” said Fred'rick, “'tis,
“'Tis all a lie. Thy purposes, no doubt,
“Were fair and good. Look at the injur'd maid;
“The frown of indignation cast on thee,
“The smile bestow'd on Gilbert, are strong proofs
“Thine is the cause of justice and of truth.
“Thy fury shews thee honest, and thy wrongs
“Cloth'd in the modest style of injur'd worth
“Bespeak a friend's compassion. I rejoice
“Gilbert yet lives to disappoint thy hopes,
“Thou man of honour; to reward thy deeds,
“Thou man of courage. In my soul I loath
“The wretch who dares be wicked, yet complains
“Of injur'd honour, and defends his act
“With specious lies and seeming honesty.
“O Gilbert, let me give thee double joy,
“Escap'd the troublous ocean, and restor'd
“To these and me. We thought the roaring surge
“Had wreck'd thy bark and cast thee up, and I,
“In pity to a mangled corpse unknown,
“Had given thee hasty burial in the beach.
“It griev'd me much, for to the wood I came
“With joyful news. The wealthy Rowley dead
“Gives thee his whole estate. Enjoy it long,
“And be the father of a num'rous race,
“And Ronsart's second hope prevented thus
“Remain unsatisfied for ever. Come,
“Let us be gone, and leave the valiant boy
“To meditate at leisure. He may find
“A surer way to honour, than to lurk,
“And offer insult to a sleeping maid,
“To menace her protector, and demand
“Strict satisfaction, when no head but his
“Deserves the stroke of justice.”

Gilbert stood
With thoughtful brow revolving in his mind
Old Rowley's goodness, cheerful now, now grave.
In doubt was he, or to accept his lot,
Or love the cottage still. Of the wide world
He little knew, nor much had seen to blame;
And novelty had charms to win his heart.
But here Maria dwelt; and what was wealth,
Or what was life, without her? His distress
Good Adriano saw, and mark'd his eye
Oft turning to Maria. “Why,” said he,
“Stands Gilbert falt'ring thus, the only soul
“That not rejoices at his own good lot?”

“'Tis strange indeed,” said Gilbert; “but my mind
“Is doubtful of its choice. On either hand
“A happy lot invites me, and to each
“My wav'ring heart inclines. Here stands the world,
“And with a fascinating smile attracts,
“And talks of duties between man and man,
“Of laurels to be won and praise deserv'd
“By public service. Sweet retirement there
“Shews me her boundless treasures, bids me drink
“At her eternal fountain of delights,
“And rove, and read, and prattle to my friends
“In the fine ease of unmolested life.
“And how shall I forsake the sunny down,
“How leave the shady wood, the cot and thee,
“And dear Maria? Who shall guard her then
“From the sly lurking villain?”

“Fear thou not,”
Said Adriano smiling, “let us live
“Unheard of still. There is a God above,
“Who loves the good, and guards them from all ills;
“And he shall lend me, to protect my child,
“A shield of adamant. Go seek the world,
“Shine in the public eye. Be great and good.
“Employ thy talents to a noble end,
“And pay them back with int'rest. Other downs,
“And other woods, and other smiling friends,
“And other mansions shall delight thee there.
“Forget Maria and her father's cell,
“And live with men, and feast thy ear with mirth,
“Thy eye with beauty.”

“Never,” cries the youth,
“O never, never. Let me sooner die
“Than leave the friends I love. I cannot quit
“The shady cottage and the sunny down,
“These many years remember'd, often sought
“At morning and at eve. My native soil,
“I cannot leave thee; how much less my friends,
“Thee Adriano, and thy duteous child
“Maria! Give me her, and to the world
“I go rejoicing, for I must confess
“I love her much.”

“I know thou lov'st her much,”
Said Adriano, “and thou didst enough
“Well to deserve her heart. But how shall I
“Support the absence of an only child,
“Scarce able now to live, by her good hand
“Sustain'd and cherish'd?”

“Be together still,”
Cried Gilbert warmly, “and my house thy home.
“What says Maria?”

On the ground were fix'd
Her modest eyes, and downcast was her head.
She smooth'd her apron's hem, and smil'd aside,
And lovely blushes wav'd upon her cheek.
She look'd at Adriano for his leave,
And gave her hand to Gilbert. Her meek eye
Met his transported, and a look of love
Shot to his heart. He kiss'd her glowing cheek,
And Adriano smil'd. The happy sign
Maria saw, and fell upon his neck.
And, “O Maria, my dear child,” he said,
“This was the happy hour I long'd to see.
“My daughter wedded to a worthy youth
“Who so deserves her, fills my heart with joy.
“I ask no more; kind Heav'n has fully paid
“For all my former pains. Be happy these,
“I leave the world in peace, content to die,
“And go to her whose loss these eyes have wept
“These twenty years. Maria, love thy husband.
“Be kind to him as thou wast kind to me,
“And he shall love thee with as perfect love.
“A few short days, perhaps, and I am gone;
“My office is expir'd, and what can I
“To be of service more?”

“Come, come,” said Gilbert,
“Live and rejoice with us. A few short years
“Of the best happiness this world affords
“Shall not o'erpay thee for thy daily care
“To rear this lovely maid. Great was the gift,
“And pure is the esteem that gift has won.
“Oh! my heart longs to shew thee what it owes,
“And make thy happiness complete as mine.
“To-morrow let us hence. Another day
“Shall make Maria mine. I cannot rest
“Till I have shewn to an admiring world
“How fair a rose has in the desert sprung.”

O ye mistaken belles, who fondly think
'Tis prudent to engage the public eye
Ere infancy expire; to lead the dance;
Parade the public walk and crowded street,
Prate to the grinning coxcomb, and engage
The eager ears of an assembled rout
All hungry to devour your pert remark;
To scream at the full concert unabash'd,
And foremost sit in the projecting box,
Till the fine blush forsakes you; learn from hence,
Who quits her modesty foregoes a grace
Which nothing can compensate. The fix'd blush,
Or true or borrow'd, has few charms for man.
Be all the morning's beauty on thy cheek,
It shall not win me if it ne'er retire
And come again, by just occasion call'd.
Be all the ev'ning's splendor in thy eye,
It shall not please me if the stubborn lid
In sweet abashment never fall. Peruse
All living nature; what but modesty
Pervades the heav'ns above and earth beneath?
The mighty Author of the world, whose hand
Creates all beauty, flies before the search.
We see the traces of his glorious art,
But seek the finger that performs in vain.
In darkness and in clouds he wraps him up,
Withdraws, and only wishes to be seen
In these his works; though beautiful, no doubt,
The source of so much beauty, beyond thought
Engaging to the eye and ev'ry sense,
That presence he denies. O modesty,
Beyond example charming! In his word,
And him the pattern of his Father's deeds
Assuming poverty to hide the God,
Read him still modest; and retreating still,
Though still pursued. He yet remains unseen,
Though on the footstool of his throne we stand,
And feel all God about us. Hence, ye fair,
Learn to esteem the godlike gift, and meet
The public eye with caution, lest the blush,
By constant admiration put to flight,
Disdain to come again, and all the charms
Which Nature gave you to engage our hearts
Be gone, and leave you with no power to please.