This is your peril; can you from such scene
Of splendour part, and feel your mind serene,
And in the father’s humble state resume
The frugal diet and the narrow room?”
To this the youth with cheerful heart replied,
Pleased with the trial, but as yet untried;
And while professing patience, should he fail,
He suffered hope o’er reason to prevail. 
   Impatient, by the morning mail conveyed,
The happy guest his promised visit paid;
And now arriving at the Hall, he tried
For air composed, serene and satisfied;
As he had practised in his room alone,
And there acquired a free and easy tone: 
There he had said, “Whatever the degree
A man obtains, what more than man is he?”
And when arrived—­“This room is but a room;
Can aught we see the steady soul o’ercome? 
Let me in all a manly firmness show,
Upheld by talents, and their value know.” 
   This reason urged; but it surpassed his skill
To be in act as manly as in will: 
When he his Lordship and the Lady saw
Brave as he was, he felt oppress’d with awe;
And spite of verse, that so much praise had won,
The poet found he was the Bailiff’s son. 
   But dinner came, and the succeeding hours
Fix’d his weak nerves, and raised his failing powers;
Praised and assured, he ventured once or twice
On some remark, and bravely broke the ice;
So that, at night, reflecting on his words,
He found, in time, he might converse with lords. 
   Now was the Sister of his Patron seen —
A lovely creature, with majestic mien;
Who, softly smiling, while she looked so fair,
Praised the young poet with such friendly air;
Such winning frankness in her looks express’d,
And such attention to her brother’s guest;
That so much beauty, join’d with speech so kind,
Raised strong emotions in the poet’s mind;
Till reason fail’d his bosom to defend,
From the sweet power of this enchanting friend. —
Rash boy! what hope thy frantic mind invades? 
What love confuses, and what pride persuades? 
Awake to truth! shouldst thou deluded feed
On hopes so groundless, thou art mad indeed. 
   What say’st thou, wise one?—­“that all powerful Love
Can fortune’s strong impediments remove;
Nor is it strange that worth should wed to worth,
The pride of genius with the pride of birth.” 
While thou art dreaming thus, the Beauty spies
Love in thy tremor, passion in thine eyes;
And with th’ amusement pleased, of conquest vain,
She seeks her pleasure, careless of thy pain;
She gives thee praise to humble and confound,
Smiles to ensnare, and flatters thee to wound. 
   Why has she said that in the lowest state
The noble mind ensures a noble fate? 
And why thy daring mind to glory call? —
That thou may’st dare and suffer, soar and fall. 
Beauties are tyrants, and if they can reign,
They have no feeling for their subjects’ pain: