XLI.

“And therefore, Jane, I think it right
That you should choose a gainful man,
One working hard from morn till night,
Gathering and hoarding all he can.

XLII.

“Yet, mind you well, I do not say
But Henry may your husband be;
Though much I doubt if learning's pay
Would keep such house as pleases me.

XLIII.

“His health, by study much abused,
Seems now, if well I mark, to pine;
And then he has been always used
To nurture delicate and fine.

XLIV.

“His mother's stipend ceased with her,
And he, I know, must needs be poor;
And so methinks it better were
That you and he should love no more.

XLV.

“But stay till winter days be past,
And when the spring returns again,
If still I find your liking last,
Why then—nay, come and kiss me, Jane.”

XLVI.

Thus wandered round his maze of speech
The long-experienced man;
Determined both the twain to teach,
Through all his saws he ran.

XLVII.

With eyes upon the table bent,
The maiden stooped her glowing face;
But Henry gazed with look intent,
The father's inmost thought to trace.

XLVIII.

And when of sinking health he spoke,
The lover's brow was flushed with red,
While Jane turned white beneath the stroke,
With anguish more than dread.

XLIX.

But when the closing promise came,
They both were lifted up and cheered;
For, freed from strife, remorse, and blame,
The old man's eye no more they feared.