Rural Tales, Ballads, and Songs | Page 8

you came you'd sorrow
on your brow;
And I've forborne to question you till now.
First,
then, say what thou art.' He instant bow'd,
And thus, in Phoebe's
hearing, spoke aloud:
'Thus far experienc'd, Sir, in you I find
All that is generous, fatherly,
and kind;
And while you look for proofs of real worth,
You'll not
regard the meanness of my birth.
The little History.
When, pennyless and sad, you met with me,
I'd just escap'd the
dangers of the Sea;
Resolv'd to try my fortune on the shore:
To get
my bread; and trust the waves no more.
Having no Home, nor Parents,
left behind,
I'd all my fortune, all my Friends, to find.
Keen
disappointment wounded me that morn:
For, trav'ling near the spot
where I was born,
I at the well-known door where I was bred,

Inquir'd who still was living, who was dead:
But first, and most, I
sought with anxious fear
Tidings to gain of her who once was dear;

A Girl, with all the meekness of the dove,
The constant sharer of my
childhood's love;
She call'd me Brother:--which I heard with pride,

Though now suspect we are not so allied.
Thus much I learnt; (no
more the churls would say;)
She went to service, and she ran away.
The Recognition.
'And scandal added'----'Hold!' the Miller cried,
And, in an instant,

stood at Phoebe's side;
For he observed, while list'ning to the tale,

Her spirits faulter'd, and her cheeks turn'd pale;
Whilst her clasp'd
hands descended to her knee
She sinking whisper'd forth, 'O God_,
'tis _he!
The good Man, though he guess'd the pleasing truth,
Was
far too busy to inform the Youth;
But stirr'd himself amain to aid his
Wife,
Who soon restor'd the trembler back to life.
Awhile
insensible she still appear'd;
But, 'O my Brother!' was distinctly heard:

The astonisht Youth now held her to his breast;
And tears and
kisses soon explain'd the rest.
Past deeds now from each tongue alternate fell;
For news of dearest
import both could tell.
Fondly, from childhood's tears to youth's full
prime,
They match'd the incidents of jogging time;
_ Mutual Recollections_.
And prov'd, that when with Tyranny opprest,
Poor Phoebe groan'd
with wounds and broken rest,
George felt no less: was harassed and
forlorn;
A rope's-end follow'd him both night and morn.
Andin that
very storm when Phoebe fled,
When the rain drench'd her yet
unshelter'd head;
That very Storm he on the Ocean brav'd,
The
Vessel founder'd, and the Boy was say'd!
Mysterious Heaven!--and O
with what delight--
She told the happy issue of her flight:
To his
charm'd heart a living picture drew;
And gave to hospitality its due!

The list'ning Host observ'd the gentle Pair;
And ponder'd on the
means that brought them there:
Convinc'd, while unimpeach'd their
Virtue stood,
Twas Heav'n's high Will that he should do them good.
But now the anxious Dame, impatient grown,
Demanded what the
Youth had heard, or known,
The Investigation.
Whereon to ground those doubts but just exprest;--

Doubts, which
must interest the feeling breast:
'Her Brother wert thou,

George?--how; prithee say:
Canst thou forego, or cast that name
away?'
'No living proofs have I,' the Youth reply'd,
That we by closest ties
are not allied;
But in my memory live, and ever will,
A mother's
dying words......I hear them still:
She said, to one who watch'd her
parting breath,
"Don't separate the Children at my death;
They're
not both mine: but--" Here the scene was clos'd;
She died, and left us
helpless and expos'd;
Nor Time hath thrown, nor Reason's opening
power,
One friendly ray on that benighted hour.'
Ne'er did the Chieftains of a Warring State
Hear from the Oracle
their half-told fate
With more religious fear, or more suspense,

Than Phoebe now endur'd:--for every sense
The Perplexity.
Became absorb'd in this unwelcome theme;
Nay every meditation,
every dream,
Th'inexplicable sentence held to view,
'They're not
both mine,' was every morning new:
For, till this hour, the Maid had
never prov'd
How far she was enthrall'd, how much she lov'd:
In
that fond character he first appear'd;
His kindness charm'd her, and
his smiles endear'd:
This dubious mystery the passion crost;
Her
peace was wounded, and her Lover lost.
For George, with all his
resolution strove
To check the progress of his growing love;
Or, if
he e'er indulg'd a tender kiss,
Th'unravell'd secret robb'd him of his
bliss.
Health's foe, Suspense, so irksome to be borne,
An
ever-piercing and retreating thorn,
Hung on their Hearts, when Nature
bade them rise,
And stole Content's bright ensign from their eyes.
Anxiety. The Enquiry suggested.
The good folks saw the change, and griev'd to find
These troubles
labouring in Phoebe's mind;
They lov'd them both; and with one
voice propos'd
The only means whence Truth might be disclos'd;


That, when the Summer Months should shrink the rill,
And scarce its
languid stream would turn the Mill,
When the Spring broods, and
Pigs, and Lambs were rear'd,
(A time when George_ and _Phoebe
might be spar'd,)
Their birth-place they should visit once again,
To
try with joint endeavours to obtain
From Record, or Tradition, what
might be
To chain, or set their chain'd affections free:
Affinity
beyond all doubts to prove;
Or clear the road for Nature and for Love.

Never, till now, did PHOEBE count the hours,
Or think May long,
or wish away its