n,
The months that flew as rapidly as days;
And sweet the stolen hours of meeting when
We listened to the nightingale's sad lays,
Or, seated on a rustic bench alone,
Forgot all else in glad communion.

IX.

I had not asked her father for her hand;
He was a baronet of ancient blood.
Proud of his lineage, jealous of his land;
His pride was such as boded me no good.
I was an author, not unknown to fame,
But could not boast a title to my name.

X.

Sore did my loved one beg me to confess
My love to him, and ask for his consent.
He loved her well, and could not fail to bless
Our union; his pride had oft unbent
To her, and she had now but little fear
That he would hear me with a willing ear.

XI.

I gladly heard her speak in confident
And reassuring tones, and all the doubt
That had been mine now vanished, and I went,
With lightsome heart, to seek her father out:
And prayed him give his daughter for my wife,
And thus confer a blessing on my life.

XII.

He heard me silently, nor did he speak
For full two minutes after I had ceased;
Then, while his eye flashed, and his livid cheek
Betrayed his passion, was his tongue released;
And, in vituperative tones, he swore
That I should never cross his threshold more.

XIII.

Was this my gratitude for patronage,
That I should thus inveigle his one daughter,
And seek to supplement my sorry wage
By the rich dowry that her marriage brought her?
He was a baronet of ancient name;
No parvenu his daughter's hand should claim.

XIV.

His words enraged me, but I checked my wrath
For her dear sake, whose love alone that fire
Could quench, and mildly arguments put forth
To soothe the baronet, and calm his ire.
But useless all the arguments I wove;
In foaming rage he cursed me and my love.

XV.

What need to speak of all that next ensued?
Still constantly, throughout those weary days,
Impelled by hope, with fondest love imbued,
Did I renew my suit. By bold essays
I sought to win the baronet's consent--
Each day a wilder rage his bosom rent.

XVI.

He had forbidden me to see my Love;
But one glad morning I received a note
From her. She bade me meet her in the grove
Behind her father's house. In pain she wrote,
For, though the letter spoke no word of pain,
Her tears had left a sorrow-telling stain.

XVII.

We met at night-time; and her tear-stained face,
Upturned to mine, was sorrowful and pale.
I pr