Imogen | Page 4

all the sons of the plain, the bravest, and the most comely, was
Edwin. His forehead was open and ingenuous, his hair was auburn, and
flowed about his shoulders in wavy ringlets. His person was not less
athletic than it was beautiful. With a firm hand he grasped the
boar-spear, and in pursuit he outstripped the flying fawn. His voice was
strong and melodious, and whether upon the pipe or in the song, there
was no shepherd daring enough to enter the lists with Edwin. But
though he excelled all his competitors, in strength of body, and the
accomplishments of skill, yet was not his mind rough and boisterous.
Success had not taught him a despotic and untractable temper, applause
had not made him insolent and vain. He was gentle as the dove. He
listened with eager docility to the voice of hoary wisdom. He had
always a tear ready to drop over the simple narrative of pastoral distress.
Victor as he continually was in wrestling, in the race, and in the song,
the shout of triumph never escaped his lips, the exultation of insult he
was never heard to utter. On the contrary, with mild and unfictitious
friendship, he soothed the breast of disappointment, and cheered the

spirits of his adversary with honest praise.
But Edwin was not more distinguished among his brother shepherds,
than was Imogen among the fair. Her skin was clear and pellucid. The
fall of her shoulders was graceful beyond expression. Her eye-brows
were arched, and from her eyes shot forth the grateful rays of the rising
sun. Her waist was slender; and as she ran, she outstripped the winds,
and her footsteps were printless on the tender herb. Her mind, though
soft, was firm; and though yielding as wax to the precepts of wisdom,
and the persuasion of innocence, it was resolute and inflexible to the
blandishments of folly, and the sternness of despotism. Her ruling
passion was the love of virtue. Chastity was the first feature in her
character. It gave substance to her accents, and dignity to her gestures.
Conscious innocence ennobled all her reflexions, and gave to her
sentiments and manner of thinking, I know not what of celestial and
divine.
Edwin and Imogen had been united in the sports of earliest infancy.
They had been mutual witnesses to the opening blossoms of
understanding and benevolence in each others breasts. While yet a boy,
Edwin had often rescued his mistress from the rude vivacity of his
playmates, and had bestowed upon her many of those little distinctions
which were calculated to excite the flame of envy among the infant
daughters of the plain. For her he gathered the vermeil-tinctured
pearmain, and the walnut with an unsavoury rind; for her he hoarded
the brown filberd, and the much prized earth-nut. When she was near,
the quoit flew from his arm with a stronger whirl, and his steps
approached more swiftly to the destined goal. With her he delighted to
retire from the heat of the sun to the centre of the glade, and to sooth
her ear with the gaiety of innocence, long before he taught her to
hearken to the language of love. For her sake he listened with greater
eagerness to the mirthful relation, to the moral fiction, and to the song
of the bards. His store of little narratives was in a manner inexhaustible.
With them he beguiled the hour of retirement, and with them he
hastened the sun to sink behind the western hill.
But as he grew to manly stature, and the down of years had begun to
clothe his blushing cheek, he felt a new sensation in his breast hitherto
unexperienced. He could not now behold his favourite companion
without emotion; his eye sparkled when he approached her; he watched

her gestures; he hung upon her accents; he was interested in all her
motions. Sometimes he would catch the eye of prudent age or of
sharp-sighted rivalry observing him, and he instantly became
embarrassed and confused, and blushed he knew not why. He repaired
to the neighbouring wake, in order to exchange his young lambs and
his hoard of cheeses. Imogen was not there, and in the midst of traffic,
and in the midst of frolic merriment he was conscious to a vacancy and
a listlessness for which he could not account. When he tended his
flocks, and played upon his slender pipe, he would sink in reverie, and
form to himself a thousand schemes of imaginary happiness. Erewhile
they had been vague and general. His spirit was too gentle for him not
to represent to himself a fancied associate; his heart was not narrow
enough to know so much as the meaning of a solitary happiness. But
Imogen now formed the principal figure in these waking dreams.