Young Mountjoy now was nineteen years of age,
Susceptible to love, and prone t’engage.
His beauty, (he call’d her) tall inclin’d,
Made such impression on his gentle mind
That he, with whom he went, wherever he stray’d,
Without disguise profess’d he lov’d the maid.
Three times, or more, within the cottage he
Improved the hour, and with solemnity
Pour’d forth his orisons. (When all alone
He often ’d pray’d that Jane might be his own.)
Love’s rosy tint flush’d her sweet cheeks and brow
As Jane beheld him, yet she knew not how
Or why he lov’d her so: (but as she grew
She heard his voice in every breeze that blew.)
And now he kiss’d her cheek, and wept a tear
To think the hour of parting drew so near:
He thought (no doubt) at home there’d be no rest—
That dearest Jane would never be their guest;
But still he thought—when many years are flown,
And I am lord and master of my own,
(Good Heaven willing it) my Jane shall then
Be welcom’d mistress at the old domain.