Such tale of this lone mansion she had learned,
  And, when that shape, with eyes in sleep half drowned,
  By the moon’s sullen lamp she first discerned,
  Cold stony horror all her senses bound. 
  Her he addressed in words of cheering sound; 185
  Recovering heart, like answer did she make;
  And well it was that, of the corse there found,
  In converse that ensued she nothing spake;
  She knew not what dire pangs in him such tale could wake.

XXII

But soon his voice and words of kind intent 190 Banished that dismal thought; and now the wind In fainter howlings told its rage was spent:  Meanwhile discourse ensued of various kind, Which by degrees a confidence of mind And mutual interest failed not to create. 195 And, to a natural sympathy resigned, In that forsaken building where they sate The Woman thus retraced her own untoward fate. [6]

XXIII

  “By Derwent’s side my father dwelt—­a man
  Of virtuous life, by pious parents bred; [7] 200
  And I believe that, soon as I began
  To lisp, he made me kneel beside my bed,
  And in his hearing there my prayers I said: 
  And afterwards, by my good father taught,
  I read, and loved the books in which I read; 205
  For books in every neighbouring house I sought,
  And nothing to my mind a sweeter pleasure brought.

XXIV [8]

  “A little croft we owned—­a plot of corn,
  A garden stored with peas, and mint, and thyme,
  And flowers for posies, oft on Sunday morn 210
  Plucked while the church bells rang their earliest chime. 
  Can I forget our freaks at shearing time! 
  My hen’s rich nest through long grass scarce espied;
  The cowslip-gathering in June’s dewy prime;
  The swans that with white chests upreared in pride 215
  Rushing and racing came to meet me at the water-side! [9]

XXV

  “The staff I well [10] remember which upbore
  The bending body of my active sire;
  His seat beneath the honied sycamore
  Where [11] the bees hummed, and chair by winter fire; 220
  When market-morning came, the neat attire
  With which, though bent on haste, myself I decked;
  Our watchful house-dog, that would tease and tire
  The stranger till its barking-fit I checked; [12]
  The red-breast, known for years, which at my casement pecked. 225

XXVI

“The suns of twenty summers danced along,—­ Too little marked how fast they rolled away:  But, through severe mischance and cruel wrong, My father’s substance fell into decay:  We toiled and struggled, hoping for a day 230 When Fortune might [13] put on a kinder look; But vain were wishes, efforts vain as they; He from his old hereditary nook Must part; the summons [14] came;—­our final leave we took. [15] [16]

XXVII