Pleased a fair view, though distant, to disclose;
From the rough ocean we beheld a gleam
Of joy, as transient as the joys we dream;
By lying hopes deceived, my friend retired,
And sail’d—­was wounded—­reach’d us—­and expired! 
You shall behold his grave; and when I die,
There—­but ’tis folly—­I request to lie.” 
   “Thus,” said the lass, “to joy you bade adieu! 
But how a widow?—­that cannot be true: 
Or was it force, in some unhappy hour,
That placed you, grieving, in a tyrant’s power?”
   “Force, my young friend, when forty years are fled,
Is what a woman seldom has to dread;
She needs no brazen locks nor guarding walls,
And seldom comes a lover though she calls: 
Yet, moved by fancy, one approved my face,
Though time and tears had wrought it much disgrace. 
   “The man I married was sedate and meek,
And spoke of love as men in earnest speak;
Poor as I was, he ceaseless sought for years,
A heart in sorrow and a face in tears: 
That heart I gave not; and ’twas long before
I gave attention, and then nothing more: 
But in my breast some grateful feeling rose,
For one whose love so sad a subject chose;
Till long delaying, fearing to repent,
But grateful still, I gave a cold assent. 
   Thus we were wed; no fault had I to find,
And he but one:  my heart could not be kind: 
Alas! of every early hope bereft,
There was no fondness in my bosom left;
So had I told him, but had told in vain,
He lived but to indulge me and complain: 
His was this cottage; he inclosed this ground. 
And planted all these blooming shrubs around;
He to my room these curious trifles brought,
And with assiduous love my pleasure sought;
He lived to please me, and I ofttimes strove,
Smiling, to thank his unrequited love: 
‘Teach me,’ he cried, ’that pensive mind to ease,
For all my pleasure is the hope to please.’ 
   Serene though heavy, were the days we spent,
Yet kind each word, and gen’rous each intent;
But his dejection lessen’d every day,
And to a placid kindness died away: 
In tranquil ease we pass’d our latter years,
By griefs untroubled, unassail’d by fears. 
   Let not romantic views your bosom sway;
Yield to your duties, and their call obey: 
Fly not a Youth, frank, honest, and sincere;
Observe his merits, and his passion hear! 
’Tis true, no hero, but a farmer, sues —
Slow in his speech, but worthy in his views;
With him you cannot that affliction prove,
That rends the bosom of the poor in love: 
Health, comfort, competence, and cheerful days,
Your friends’ approval, and your father’s praise,
Will crown the deed, and you escape their fate
Who plan so wildly, and are wise too late.” 
   The Damsel heard; at first th’ advice was strange,
Yet wrought a happy, nay, a speedy change: 
“I have no care,” she said, when next they met,