A year and seven months had now gone by
Since Arnold Mountjoy left for Germany:
Each new epistle borne across the main
Brought tidings of increasing love for Jane,—
Entreating her, “Be constant; for my sake
Shun company,—at least, take care to make
Acquaintance only with my choicest friends;
Be chaste, for chastity with virtue blends:
Thy tutors, dearest, write me pleasing notes,—
Such as I send thee now;” so, on he quotes—
* * * * *
And naturally felt—if half of this were truth—
How clever would she ’ve been if, in her youth,
She had been educated by degrees
At one of England’s best academies.
Now he began to contemplate with pride
A happy meeting with his future bride;
He even fix’d the month, nay, very hour
For setting out upon his homeward tour:
(And those acquainted with this noble man
Knew how precise he’d execute his plan:)—
“Five silvery moons must run their course,” he said,
“Before I take her to the nuptial bed;
Day, godly flame, will fire the orient strand
Three months or more ere I shall reach the land,
Where, O, blest country—bounded by the sea,
I thank my God there is a home for me!”—
And as the wheel of age roll’d swiftly by
He penn’d th’ epistle which should intimate
The day he hoped t’arrive at Rollingate.