And of his master’s safety were he sure,
There was no grievance he would not endure.” 
This made his peace with the relenting ’Squire,
Whose thoughts yet dwelt on supper and a fire;
When, as they reach’d a long and pleasant green,
Dwellings of men, and next a man, were seen. 
   “My friend,” said George, “to travellers astray
Point out an inn, and guide us on the way.” 
The man look’d up; “Surprising! can it be
My master’s son? as I’m alive, ’tis he!”
“How!  Robin?” George replied, “and are we near
My father’s house? how strangely things appear! —
Dear sir, though wanderers, we at last are right: 
Let us proceed, and glad my father’s sight: 
We shall at least be fairly lodged and fed,
I can ensure a supper and a bed;
Let us this night as one of pleasure date,
And of surprise:  it is an act of Fate.” 
“Go on,” the ’Squire in happy temper cried;
“I like such blunder!  I approve such guide.” 
   They ride, they halt, the farmer comes in haste,
Then tells his wife how much their house is graced;
They bless the chance, they praise the lucky son. 
That caused the error—­Nay! it was not one,
But their good fortune:  cheerful grew the ’Squire,
Who found dependants, flattery, wine, and fire;
He heard the jack turn round; the busy dame
Produced her damask; and with supper came
The Daughter, dress’d with care, and full of maiden shame. 
   Surprised, our hero saw the air and dress,
And strove his admiration to express;
Nay! felt it too—­for Harriot was in truth
A tall fair beauty in the bloom of youth;
And from the pleasure and surprise, a grace
Adorn’d the blooming damsel’s form and face;
Then, too, such high respect and duty paid
By all—­such silent reverence in the maid;
Vent’ring with caution, yet with haste, a glance,
Loth to retire, yet trembling to advance,
Appear’d the nymph, and in her gentle guest
Stirr’d soft emotions till the hour of rest;
Sweet was his sleep, and in the morn again
He felt a mixture of delight and pain: 
“How fair, how gentle,” said the ’Squire, “how meek,
And yet how sprightly, when disposed to speak! 
Nature has bless’d her form, and heaven her mind,
But in her favours Fortune is unkind;
Poor is the maid—­nay, poor she cannot prove
Who is enrich’d with beauty, worth, and love.” 
   The ’Squire arose, with no precise intent
To go or stay—­uncertain what he meant: 
He moved to part—­they begg’d him first to dine;
And who could then escape from Love and Wine? 
As came the night, more charming grew the Fair,
And seem’d to watch him with a twofold care: 
On the third morn, resolving not to stay,
Though urged by Love, he bravely rode away. 
   Arrived at home, three pensive days he gave
To feelings fond and meditations grave;
Lovely she was, and, if he did not err,
As fond of him as his fond heart of her;