Known but of late, I yet am loth to leave

The gentle Jane, and wonder why I grieve—

Not for her wants, for she has no distress,

She has no suffering that her looks express,

Her air or manner—hers the mild good sense

That wins its way by making no pretence.

When yet a child, her dying mother knew

What, left by her, the widow’d man would do,

And gave her Jane, for she had power, enough

To live in ease—of love and care a proof. 10