IV.

And, as on Isabel’s sustaining arm He passed ’neath trellised vine that dropt its load Of blooming clusters near their heads, the charm Of youthful beauty in that fair abode More interest took from sorrows that corrode The old man’s brow beside her. Ne’er was seen A lovelier picture than the pains bestowed On that ripe senior by that maiden green-- No sire more grave, no maid more dutiful I ween.