With her should years of growing love be spent,
And growing wealth—she sigh'd and look'd consent.
Now, through the lane, up hill, and 'cross the green,
(Seen by but few, and blushing to be seen—
Dejected, thoughtful, anxious, and afraid,)
Led by the lover, walk'd the silent maid.
Slow through the meadows roved they many a mile,
170
Toy'd by each bank and trifled at each stile;
Where, as he painted every blissful view,