The Parish Register | Page 4

all the nymphs who gave our village grace,?The Miller's daughter had the fairest face:?Proud was the Miller; money was his pride;?He rode to market, as our farmers ride,?And 'twas his boast, inspired by spirits, there,?His favourite Lucy should be rich as fair;?But she must meek and still obedient prove,?And not presume, without his leave, to love.
A youthful Sailor heard him;--"Ha!" quoth he,?"This Miller's maiden is a prize for me;?Her charms I love, his riches I desire,?And all his threats but fan the kindling fire;?My ebbing purse no more the foe shall fill,?But Love's kind act and Lucy at the mill."
Thus thought the youth, and soon the chase began,?Stretch'd all his sail, nor thought of pause or plan:?His trusty staff in his bold hand he took,?Like him and like his frigate, heart of oak;?Fresh were his features, his attire was new;?Clean was his linen, and his jacket blue:?Of finest jean his trousers, tight and trim,?Brush'd the large buckle at the silver rim.
He soon arrived, he traced the village-green,?There saw the maid, and was with pleasure seen;?Then talk'd of love, till Lucy's yielding heart?Confess'd 'twas painful, though 'twas right to part.
"For ah! my father has a haughty soul;?Whom best he loves, he loves but to control;?Me to some churl in bargain he'll consign,?And make some tyrant of the parish mine:?Cold is his heart, and he with looks severe?Has often forced but never shed the tear;?Save, when my mother died, some drops expressed?A kind of sorrow for a wife at rest: -?To me a master's stern regard is shown,?I'm like his steed, prized highly as his own;?Stroked but corrected, threatened when supplied,?His slave and boast, his victim and his pride."
"Cheer up, my lass! I'll to thy father go,?The Miller cannot be the Sailor's foe;?Both live by Heaven's free gale, that plays aloud?In the stretch'd canvass and the piping shroud;?The rush of winds, the flapping sails above,?And rattling planks within, are sounds we love;?Calms are our dread; when tempests plough the deep,?We take a reef, and to the rocking sleep."
"Ha!" quoth the Miller, moved at speech so rash,?"Art thou like me? then where thy notes and cash??Away to Wapping, and a wife command,?With all thy wealth, a guinea in thine hand;?There with thy messmates quaff the muddy cheer,?And leave my Lucy for thy betters here."
"Revenge! revenge!" the angry lover cried,?Then sought the nymph, and "Be thou now my bride."?Bride had she been, but they no priest could move?To bind in law the couple bound by love.
What sought these lovers then by day by night??But stolen moments of disturb'd delight;?Soft trembling tumults, terrors dearly prized,?Transports that pain'd, and joys that agonised;?Till the fond damsel, pleased with lad so trim,?Awed by her parent, and enticed by him,?Her lovely form from savage power to save,?Gave--not her hand--but ALL she could she gave.
Then came the day of shame, the grievous night,?The varying look, the wandering appetite;?The joy assumed, while sorrow dimm'd the eyes,?The forced sad smiles that follow'd sudden sighs;?And every art, long used, but used in vain,?To hide thy progress, Nature, and thy pain.
Too eager caution shows some danger's near,?The bully's bluster proves the coward's fear;?His sober step the drunkard vainly tries,?And nymphs expose the failings they disguise.
First, whispering gossips were in parties seen,?Then louder Scandal walk'd the village--green;?Next babbling Folly told the growing ill,?And busy Malice dropp'd it at the mill.
"Go! to thy curse and mine," the Father said,?"Strife and confusion stalk around thy bed;?Want and a wailing brat thy portion be,?Plague to thy fondness, as thy fault to me; -?Where skulks the villain?" -
"On the ocean wide?My William seeks a portion for his bride." -
"Vain be his search; but, till the traitor come,?The higgler's cottage be thy future home;?There with his ancient shrew and care abide,?And hide thy head,--thy shame thou canst not hide."
Day after day was pass'd in pains and grief;?Week follow'd week,--and still was no relief:?Her boy was born--no lads nor lasses came?To grace the rite or give the child a name;?Nor grave conceited nurse, of office proud,?Bore the young Christian roaring through the crowd:?In a small chamber was my office done,?Where blinks through paper'd panes the setting sun;?Where noisy sparrows, perch'd on penthouse near,?Chirp tuneless joy, and mock the frequent tear;?Bats on their webby wings in darkness move,?And feebly shriek their melancholy love.
No Sailor came; the months in terror fled!?Then news arrived--He fought, and he was DEAD!
At the lone cottage Lucy lives, and still?Walks for her weekly pittance to the mill;?A mean seraglio there her father keeps,?Whose mirth insults her, as she stands and weeps;?And sees the plenty, while compell'd to stay,?Her father's pride, become his harlot's prey.
Throughout the lanes she glides, at evening's close,?And softly lulls her infant to repose;?Then sits and gazes, but with viewless look,?As gilds the moon the rippling of the brook;?And sings her vespers, but in voice