Ere long there was an end to the confusion, And everyone came back to common sense, Then all the household joined in the conclusion It was a fearful blow, at all events Poor Dora's sufferings were most intense, And prudently she was despatched to bed, Permitted to remain on no pretence, And there the household bandaged up her head, For all lent their assistance as I should have said.
Respecting how they spent their length of time There was a lot to say as you'd suppose, (Which I will not repeat to you in rhyme) Concerning their enjoyments and their woes, And all such trivialities as those, Or thanks to him to whom such thanks were due, And query after query then arose, And pleasant incidents by no means few, As under the like circumstances always do.
Supper despatched, our Rowland started back Loaded with thanks and all that words could speak, The stars were overcast, the night was black, The wind arose as from some sudden freak; At intervals was seen a livid streak, And distant rumblings fell upon the ear; 'Twas true a storm had threatened all the week And lurked about the sultry atmosphere, Then was the time they were to have it, it was clear.
Yet these were tokens Rowland did not heed, Such trifles then he little cared about, As he upon his journey did proceed He was disturbed within more than without And dead to all around I've not a doubt, Absorbed in thoughts that words can ne'er define, Yet you can guess, my reader, what about, Most likely such as those have once been thine, I really fail to count how often they've been mine.
Within him was a feeling as of pain,-- That melancholy music in whose tone, Though full of sadness, something sweet doth reign, And Rowland for the first time felt _alone_; How often hath this feeling been our own When all is--what? compared to something dear, When former pleasures all, yea, all have flown, And life is centred in another sphere, And all the world is nothing if one be not near.
There was a something in the heaven above That corresponded with his state of mind; We all know what it is to be in love, When all Earth's sweetest pleasures seem combined, When Life and Love both, both are intertwined, And the young blood is as the desert's thirst, A scorching wilderness, a torrid wind, A torrent with its flood-gates open burst; When Youth's most cherished hopes within the breast are nursed.