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XLV.

Nor would she in her native North,
When woo'd by one of wealth and worth,
The neighbour of her happy home,
Though by her gentle parents press'd,
And flatter'd, courted and caress'd,
A splendid bride become.
“I may not,” said her gentle heart,
“The very thought endure,
“That those so kind should feel the smart
“A daughter's wants might oft impart,
“For Jerviswood is poor.
“But yet, though poor, why should I smother
“This dear regard? he'll be my brother,
“And thus through life we'll love each other.
“What though, as changing years flit by,
“Grey grow my head, and dim his eye!
“We'll meekly bear our way ward fate,
“And scorn their petty spite who rate,
“With senseless gibes, the single state,
“Till we are join'd, at last, in heavenly bliss on high.”