Be windows those from which she dares not fall,
And help so distant, ’tis in vain to call;
Still means of freedom will some power devise,
And from the baffled ruffian snatch his prize.
To Northern Wales, in some sequester’d spot,
I’ve follow’d fair Louisa to her cot:
Where, then a wretched and deserted bride,
The injur’d fair-one wished from man to hide;
Till by her fond repenting Belville found,
By some kind chance - the straying of a hound,