Rural Tales, Ballads, and Songs | Page 7

the weary stranger clos'd her eyes,
And
seem'd fatigu'd beyond her strength and years,
'Sleep, Child,' he said,
'and wipe away your tears.'
They watch'd her slumbers till the storm
was done;
When thus the generous Man again begun:
'See,
fluttering sighs that rise against her will,
And agitating dreams disturb
her still!
The Simple Story.
'Dame, we should know before we go to rest,
'Whence comes this
Girl, and how she came distrest.
'Wake her, and ask; for she is sorely
bruis'd:
'I long to know by whom she's thus misus'd.
'Child, what's your name? how came you in the storm?
'Have you no
home to keep you dry and warm?
'Who gave you all those wounds
your shoulders show?
'Where are your Parents? Whither would you
go?
The Stranger bursting into tears, look'd pale,
And this the purport of
her artless tale.
'I have no Parents; and no friends beside:
'I well
remember when my Mother died:
'My Brother cried; and so did I that
day:
'We had no Father;--he was gone away;
'That night we left our
home new cloaths to wear:
'The Work-house found them; we were
carried there.
'We lov'd each other dearly; when we met
'We always

shar'd what trifles we could get.
Rustic Hospitality and Protection of the friendless.
But George was older by a year than me:--
He parted from me and
was sent to Sea.
"Good-bye, dear Phoebe," the poor fellow said!

Perhaps he'll come again; perhaps he's dead.
When I grew strong
enough I went to place,
My Mistress had a sour ill-natured face;

And though I've been so often beat and chid,
I strove to please her,
Sir: indeed, I did.
Weary and spiritless to bed I crept,
And always
cried at night before I slept.
This Morning I offended; and I bore
A
cruel beating, worse than all before.
Unknown to all the House I ran
away;
And thus far travell'd through the sultry day;
And, O don't
send me back! I dare not go.'--
'I send you back!' the Miller cried, 'no,
no.'
Th' appeals of Wretchedness had weight with him,
And
Sympathy would warm him every limb;
The Child becomes one of the Family.
He mutter'd, glorying in the work begun,
'Well done, my little Wench;
'twas nobly done!'
Then said, with looks more cheering than the fire,

And feelings such as Pity can inspire,
'My house has childless been
this many a year;
While you deserve it you shall tarry here.'
The
Orphan mark'd the ardor of his eye,
Blest his kind words, and thank'd
him with a sigh.
Thus was the sacred compact doubly seal'd;
Thus were her spirits
rais'd, her bruises heal'd:
Thankful, and cheerful too, no more afraid,

Thus little PHOEBE was the Miller's Maid.
Grateful they found
her; patient of controul:
A most bewitching gentleness of soul
Made
pleasure of what work she had to do:
She grew in stature, and in
beauty too.
Five years she pass'd in this delightful home;
Five happy years: but,
when the sixth was come,

The New Comer.
The Miller from a Market Town hard by,
Brought home a sturdy
Youth his strength to try,
To raise the sluice-gates early every morn,

To heave his powder'd sacks and grind his corn:
And meeting
Phoebe, whom he lov'd so dear,
'I've brought you home a Husband,
Girl?--D'ye hear?
He begg'd for work; his money seem'd but scant:

Those that will work 'tis pity they should want.
So use him well, and
we shall shortly see
Whether he merits what I've done, like thee.'
Now throbb'd her heart,--a new sensation
Whene'er the comely
Stranger was in right:
For he at once assiduously strove.
To please
so sweet a Maid, and win her love.
At every corner stopp'd her in her
way;
And saw fresh beauties opening ev'ry day;
He took delight in
tracing in her face
The mantling blush, and every nameless grace,
[Footnote: A Maxim which all ought to remember. C.L.]
First Impressions.
That Sensibility would bring to view,
When Love he
mention'd;---Love, and Honour true,
But Phoebe still was shy; and
wish'd to know
More of the honest Youth, whose manly brow
She
verily believ'd was Truth's own throne,
And all his words as artless as
her own;
Most true she judg'd; yet, long the Youth forbore

Divulging where, and how, he liv'd before;
And seem'd to strive his
History to hide,
Till fair Esteem enlisted on his side.
The Miller saw,
and mention'd, in his prajse,
The prompt fidelity of all his ways;

Till in a vacant hour, the Dinner done,
One day he jokjng cried,
'Come here, my Son!
'Tis pity that so good a Lad as you
Beneath
my roof should bring disorders new!
But here's my Phoebe,--once so
light and airy,
She'd trip along the passage like a Fairy,--
Enquiry. Ingenuous Explanation
.

Has lost her swiftness quite, since here you came:--
And yet;... I can't
perceive the Girl is lame!
The obstacles she meets with still fall
thicker:
Old as I am I'd turn a corner quicker.'--
The Youth_ blush'd
deep; and _Phoebe hung her head:
The good Man smil'd, and thus
again he said:
'Not that I deem it matter of surprise,
That you should love to gaze at
Phoebe's eyes;
But be explicit, Boy; and deal with honour:
I feel
my happiness depend upon her.
When here