“And I, Sir, mine.”
Oh! happy, happy, happy pair! both sought,
Both seeking—catching both [—], and caught!
TALE IV.
RACHEL.
It chanced we walk’d upon the heath, and met
A wandering woman; her thin clothing wet
With morning fog; the little care she took
Of things like these was written in her look.
Not pain from pinching cold was in her face,
But hurrying grief, that knows no resting place—