Half hid in mist, that hung upon the fen;
Before him swallows, gathering for the sea,
Took their short flights, and twitter’d on the lea;
And near the bean-sheaf stood, the harvest done,
And slowly blacken’d in the sickly sun; 720
All these were sad in nature, or they took
Sadness from him, the likeness of his look,
And of his mind—he ponder’d for a while,
Then met his Fanny with a borrow’d smile.
Not much remain’d; for money and my lord