Now Jane, perceiving it was getting late,
Ceased for this evening to interrogate,
And bade them both a favourable good night;
Then hasten’d home, maturing as she went
The manner of depicting the event
To her dear aunt, and how t’explain away—
Without alarm—the cause of her delay;
Which she accomplishèd with praiseworthy tact,
By slowly unfolding the momentous fact,—
And so unburden’d her invaded breast;
Wept—but for joy—and then retired to rest.
But many a day Jane felt (poor girl!) unfit
To undertake her lessons, and would sit
Apparently in fear lest aught should mar—
By some catastrophe to him afar—
Her own anticipations, and destroy
Their mutual bodings of conjugal joy:
She’d read his letters (and give each a kiss),
In which, alone, she found a world of bliss;
And oftentimes a tear would damp her face
Whilst she replaced them in her writing-case.
On one occasion, when Jane heard the lark’s
Blithe carolling, she made these sweet remarks—
“Ah! little minstrel of the air so free,
None of thy kindred can discourse like thee;
Whilst list’ning to thy solo—charming thing—
I long to be a bird to choose thee king;
If so, I’d crown thee with pure wreaths of gold,
And then adventurously would make so bold
To claim thy friendship; yes, and seek thy love:
It may be thou art he that Arnold strove
One day so perseveringly to catch,
But thou, O! songster, proved too good a match.”
Another time, whilst sitting studiously
Beneath the branches of a stately tree,
The cuckoo ’lighted on its topmost limb,
And, as his wont, his simple notes would chime
Melodiously; which fell upon Jane’s ear—
That, like a statue, she sat fix’d, for fear
The slightest movement might affright her guest,
And thus disturb the darling’s transient rest:
So much delighted was dear Jane to hear
The meek enchanter piping forth so clear
Its rare alternate notes, that she could not
Refrain rememb’ring Westonbury cot:
But when the cuckoo left its perch and fled
Across the vale, Jane lifted up her head,
Exclaiming—“Oh, thou trumpeter of May!
I’ve sat in pain, almost, that thou should’st stay,
Yet thou hast flown; fie on thee, timid bird:”
But ere she’d time to speak another word
She, hearing footsteps as of something near,
Turn’d quickly round and saw an antler’d deer,
Of graceful form, the noblest of his race,
Matchless in stature, and lord of the chase:
Jane’s movements made the handsome creature bound,
Light as an angel, o’er the scythèd ground:
“Ah! nimble forester,” she said, “I see—
’Twas you that drove the cuckoo off the tree.”