The joyous Woman is the Mate 25
  Of him in that forlorn estate! 
  He breathes a subterraneous damp;
  But bright as Vesper shines her lamp: 
  He is as mute as Jedborough Tower: 
  She jocund as it was of yore, 30
  With all its bravery on; in times
  When all alive with merry chimes,
  Upon a sun-bright morn of May,
  It roused the Vale to holiday.

    I praise thee, Matron! and thy due 35
  Is praise, heroic praise, and true! 
  With admiration I behold
  Thy gladness unsubdued and bold: 
  Thy looks, thy gestures, all present
  The picture of a life well spent:  40
  This do I see; and something more;
  A strength unthought of heretofore! 
  Delighted am I for thy sake;
  And yet a higher joy partake: 
  Our Human-nature throws away 45
  Its second twilight, and looks gay;
  A land of promise and of pride
  Unfolding, wide as life is wide.

    Ah! see her helpless Charge! enclosed
  Within himself as seems, composed; 50
  To fear of loss, and hope of gain,
  The strife of happiness and pain,
  Utterly dead! yet in the guise
  Of little infants, when their eyes
  Begin to follow to and fro 55
  The persons that before them go,
  He tracks her motions, quick or slow. 
  Her buoyant spirit can prevail
  Where common cheerfulness would fail;
  She strikes upon him with the heat 60
  Of July suns; he feels it sweet;
  An animal delight though dim! 
  ’Tis all that now remains for him!

    The more I looked, I wondered more—­
  And, while I scanned them o’er and o’er, [4] 65
  Some inward trouble suddenly
  Broke from the Matron’s strong black eye—­[5]
  A remnant of uneasy light,
  A flash of something over-bright![B]
  Nor long this mystery did detain 70
  My thoughts;—­she told in pensive strain [6]
  That she had borne a heavy yoke,
  Been stricken by a twofold stroke;
  Ill health of body; and had pined
  Beneath worse ailments of the mind. 75

    So be it!—­but let praise ascend
  To Him who is our lord and friend! 
  Who from disease and suffering
  [7] Hath called for thee a second spring;
  Repaid thee for that sore distress 80
  By no untimely joyousness;
  Which makes of thine a blissful state;
  And cheers thy melancholy Mate!

* * * * *

VARIANTS ON THE TEXT

[Variant 1: 

1827.

  For ... 1807.]

[Variant 2: