Lest some fair rival should allure her swain:
To such she answer’d, with a look severe,
“Can one you doubt be worthy of your fear?”
My lord was kind—a month had pass’d away, }
And Henry stay’d—he sometimes named a day; }
But still my lord was kind, and Henry still must stay. }
His father’s words to him were words of fate—
“Wait, ’tis your duty; ’tis my pleasure, wait!” 180
In all his walks, in hilly heath or wood,
Cecilia’s form the pensive youth pursued;