But wonder, pity, soon were quelled ; The soul's pure brightness he beheld He loved, he hoped, - —a holy flame "Such bounty is no gift of chance," To me the charge hath given. But when the Lady Catherine pleads, "Leave open to my wish the course, And I to her will go; From that humane and heavenly source Good, only good, can flow." Faint sanction given, the Cavalier Was eager to depart, Though question followed question, dear To the Maiden's filial heart. Light was his step, his hopes, more light, Kept pace with his desires; And the fifth morning gave him sight Of Moscow's glittering spires. He sued:- heart-smitten by the wrong, The Emperor sent a pledge as strong A more than mighty change! If e'er And joy's excess produced a fear Of something void and vain, 'Twas when the Parents, who had mourned So long the lost as dead, Beheld their only Child returned, The household floor to tread. Soon gratitude gave way to love Meek Catherine had her own reward; The Czar bestowed a dower; And universal Moscow shared The triumph of that hour. Flowers strewed the ground; the nuptial feast Was held with costly state; And there, 'mid many a noble guest, The Foster-parents sate; Encouraged by the imperial eye, They shrank not into shade; Great was their bliss, the honor high 1830. INSCRIPTIONS. I. IN THE GROUNDS OF COLEORTON, THE SEAT OF SIR GEORGE BEAUMONT, BART., LEICESTERSHIRE. 1808. THE embowering rose, the acacia, and the pine Will not unwillingly their place resign, If but the Cedar thrive that near them stands, Planted by Beaumont's and by Wordsworth's hands. One wooed the silent Art with studious pains : These groves have heard the other's pensive strains; Devoted thus, their spirits did unite By interchange of knowledge and delight. And when its potent branches, wide out-thrown, Not mindless of that distant age renowned When Inspiration hovered o'er this ground, And of that famous Youth, full soon removed From earth, perhaps by Shakespeare's self approved, Fletcher's Associate, Jonson's Friend beloved. II. IN A GARDEN OF THE SAME. OFT is the medal faithful to its trust That things obscure and small outlive the great: III. WRITTEN AT THE REQUEST OF SIR GEORGE BEAUMONT, YE Lime-trees, ranged before this hallowed Urn, Where Reynolds, 'mid our country's noblest dead, There, though by right the excelling Painter Where Death and Glory a joint sabbath keep, |