Simple as was the character of the inhabitants of this happy valley, it
is not to be supposed that Edwin found many obstacles to the enjoyment
of the society of his mistress. Though strait as the pine, and beautiful
as the gold-skirted clouds of a summer morning, the parents of Imogen
had not learned to make a traffic of the future happiness of their care.
They sought not to decide who should be the fortunate shepherd that
should carry her from the sons of the plain. They left the choice to her
penetrating wit, and her tried discretion. They erected no rampart to
defend her chastity; they planted no spies to watch over her reputation.
They entrusted her honour to her own keeping. They were convinced, that
the spotless dictates of conscious innocence, and that divinity that
dwells in virtue and awes the shaggy satyr into mute admiration, were
her sufficient defence. They left to her the direction of her conduct.
The shepherdess, unsuspicious by nature, and untaught to view mankind
with a wary and a jealous eye, was a stranger to severity and caprice.
She was all gentleness and humanity. The sweetness of her temper led her
to regard with an eye of candour, and her benevolence to gratify all the
innocent wishes, of those about her. The character of a woman
undistinguishing in her favours, and whose darling employment is to
increase the number of her admirers, is in the highest degree unnatural.
Such was not the character of Imogen. She was artless and sincere. Her
tongue evermore expressed the sentiments of her heart. She drew the
attention of no swain from a rival; she employed no stratagems to
inveigle the affections; she mocked not the respect of the simple
shepherd with delusive encouragement. No man charged her with broken
vows; no man could justly accuse her of being cruel and unkind.

It may therefore readily be supposed, that the subject of love rather
glided into the conversation of Edwin and Imogen, than was regularly and
designedly introduced. They were unknowing in the art of disguising