No satisfaction beamed:  he showed surprise. 
          With trembling knees and blushes o’er the face,
          The widow now explained the mystick case. 
          Six steps behind, the beauteous daughter stood,
          And waited the decree she thought so good. 
          The hypocrite howe’er the hermit played,
          And sent these humble pilgrims back dismayed. 
          Said he, the evil spirit much I dread;
          No female to my cell should e’er be led;
          Excuse me then:  such acts would sorrow bring;
          From me the holy father ne’er spring. 
          What ne’er from you? the widow straight replied: 
          And why should not the blessing, pray, be tried? 
          No other answer howsoe’er she got;
          So back they trudged once more to gain their cot. 
          Ah! mother, said the girl, ’tis my belief,
          Our many heavy sins have caused thus grief.

          Whennight arrived and they in sleep were lost,
          Again the hermit’s horn the woodwork crossed;
          Return, return, cried he with horrid tone;
          To-morrow you’ll have due attention shown;
          I’ve changed the hermit’s cold fastidious mind,
          And when you come, he’ll act as I’ve designed.

          Thecouple left their bed at break of day,
          And to the cell repaired without delay
          Our tale to shorten, Lucius kind appeared
          To rigid rules no longer he adhered. 
          The mother with him let her girl remain,
          And hastened to her humble roof again. 
          The belle complying looked:—­he took her arm,
          And soon familiar grew with ev’ry charm.

          O hypocrites! how oft your wily art
          Deceives the world and causes poignant smart.

          Atmatins they so very often met,
          Some awkward indications caused regret. 
          The fair at length her apron-string perceived
          Grew daily shorter, which her bosom grieved;
          But nothing to the hermit she’d unfold,
          Nor e’en those feelings to her mother told;
          She dreaded lest she should be sent away,
          And be deprived at once of Cupid’s play. 
          You’ll tell me whence so much discernment came? 
          From this same play:—­the tree of art by name. 
          For sev’n long months the nymph her visits paid;
          Her inexperience doubtless wanted aid.

          Butwhen the mother saw her daughter’s case,
          She made her thank the monk, and leave the place. 
          The hermit blessed the Lord for what was done;
          A pleasant course his humble slave had run. 
          He told the mother and her daughter fair,
          The child, by God’s permission, gifts would share.