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And then his prayers; they would a savage move,
And win the coldest of the sex to love :'
But, ah ! too soon his looks success declared,
Too late her loss the marriage rite repaired ;
The faithless flatterer then his vows forgot,
A captious tyrant or a noisy sot :
If present, railing, till he saw her pained ;
If absent, spending what their labors gained ;
Till that fair form in want and sickness pined,
And hope and comfort fled that gentle mind.

Then fly temptation, youth ; resist, refrain,
Nor let me preach forever and in vain !

He would of coldness, though indulged, complain,
And oft retire and oft return again ;
When, if his teasing vexed her gentle mind,
The grief assumed compelled her to be kind !
For he would proof of plighted kindness crave,
That she resented first, and then forgave,
And to his grief and penance yielded more
Than his presumption had required before ;

Ah ! fly temptation, youth ; refrain, refrain,

Each yielding maid, and each presuming swain ! MISERABLE RESULT OF PHEBE'S MARRIAGE. HER FORLORN

CONDITION; TRUE CHARITY OF HER NEIGHBOR. Lo! now with red, rent cloak and bonnet black, And torn green gown, loose hanging at her back, One who an infant in her arm sustains, And seems in patience striving with her pains ; Pinched are her looks, as one who pines for bread, Whose cares are growing, and whose hopes are fled; Pale her parched lips, her heavy eyes sunk low, And tears unnoticed from their channels flow; Serene her manner, till some sudden pain Frets the meek soul, and then she's calm again ; Her broken pitcher to the pool she takes, And every step with cautious terror makes ; For not alone that infant in her arms, But nearer cause, maternal fear, alarms; With water burthened, then she picks her way, Slowly and cautious in the clinging clay ; Till in mid-green she trusts a place unsound, And deeply plunges in the adhesive ground ; From whence her slender foot with pain she takes, While hope the mind as strength the frame forsakes, For when so full the cup of sorrow grows, Add but a drop, it instantly o'erflows. And now her path, but not her peace, she gains, Safe from her task, but shivering with her pains ; Her home she reaches, open leaves the door, And, placing first her infant on the floor, She bares her bosom to the wind, and sits, And, sobbing, struggles with the rising fits ; In vain, they come, she feels the inflating grief, That shuts the swelling bosom from relief ; That speaks in feeble cries a soul distressed, Or the sad laugh that cannot be repressed ; The neighbor-matron leaves her wheel, and flies With all the aid her poverty supplies ; Unfeed, the calls of nature she obeys, Not led by profit, not allured by praise ; And, waiting long, till these contentions cease, She speaks of comfort, and departs in peace. Friend of distress! the mourner feels thy aid, She cannot pay thee, but thou wilt be paid.


-THE TRAPPER ENTRAPPED. - IMPOLITIC GLOOM. Next came a well-dressed pair, who left their

coach, And made in long procession slow approach : For, this gay bride had many a female friend, And youths were there, this favored youth to attend : Silent, nor wanting due respect, the crowd Stood humbly round, and gratulation bowed ; But not that silent crowd, in wonder fixed, Not numerous friends who praise and envy mixed, Nor nymphs attending near, to swell the pride Of one more fair, the ever-smiling bride ; Nor that gay bride adorned with every grace, Nor love nor joy triumphant in her face, Could from the youth's sad signs of sorrow chase : Why didst thou grieve? Wealth, pleasure, freedom, Vexed it thy soul, that freedom to resign? [thine, Spake scandal truth? • Thou didst not then intend So soon to bring thy wooing to an end ?' Or was it, as our prating rustics say, To end as soon, but in a different way? 'T is told thy Phyllis is a skilful dame, Who played uninjured with the dangerous flame : That while, like Lovelace, thou thy coat displayed And hid the snare, prepared to catch the maid, Thee with her net she found the means to catch, And at the amorous see-saw won the match ;? Yet others tell, the captain fixed thy doubt, He'd call thee brother, or he'd call thee out :But rest the motive - all retreat too late, Joy like thy bride's should on thy brow have sate ; The deed had then appeared thine own intent, A glorious day, by gracious fortune sent, In each revolving year to be in triumph spent. Then in few weeks that cloudy brow had been Without a wonder or a whisper seen ; And none had been so weak as to inquire, • Why pouts my lady?' or 'why frowns the squiro ?'



But who this child of weakness, want, and care? 'T is Phebe Dawson, pride of Lammas Fair ; Who took her lover for his sparkling eyes, Expressions warm, and love-inspiring lies : Compassion first assailed her gentle heart, For all his suffering, all his bosom's smart :


How fair these names, how much unlike they look To all the blurred subscriptions in my book ; The bridegroom's letters stand in row above, Tapering, yet stout, like pine-trees in his grove ;

i Clarissa, vol. VII., Lovelace's Letter.




While free and fine the bride's appear below,

Increased his stock, and still he looked for more ; As light and slender as her jasmines grow ;

He for his acres few so duly paid, Mark now in what confusion stoop or stand

That yet more acres to his lot were laid ; The crooked scrolls of many a clownish hand ; Till our chaste nymphs no longer felt disdain, Now out, now in, they droop, they fall, they rise, And prudent matrons praised the frugal swain ; Like raw recruits drawn forth for exercise ;

Who thriving well, through many a fruitful year, Ere yet reformed and modelled by the drill,

Now clothed himself anew, and acted overseer. The free-born legs stand striding as they will.

FATE OF BRIDGET DAWDLE. - LOVE OF FINERY HER RCIN. Much have I tried to guide the fist along, But still the blunderers placed their blottings wrong; Just then poor Bridget from her friend in town Behold these marks uncouth ! how strange that men Fled in pure fear, and came a beggar down ; Who guide the plough should fail to guide the pen; Trembling, at Roger's door she knocked for bread, For half a mile, the furrows even lie ;

Was chidden first, next pitied, and then fed ; For half an inch, the letters stand awry;

Then sat at Roger's board, then shared in Roger's Is it that, strong and sturdy in the field,

All hope of marriage lost in her disgrace, [bed: They scorn the arms of idle men to wield;

He mourns a flame revived, and she a love of lace. Or give that hand to guide the goose-quill tip, That rules a team and brandishes a whip?

SIMILES ; DRY STICKS, SERE TREES, DEAD LIMBS. The lions they, whom conscious powers forbid

Now to be wed a well-matched couple came ; To play the ape, and · dandle with the kid.'

Thrice had old Lodge been tied, and twice the dame: But yet, small arts have charms for female eyes ;

Tottering they came and toying (odious scene!), Our rustic nymphs the beau and scholar prize ;

And fond and simple, as they'd always been. Unlettered swains, and ploughmen coarse, they

Children from wedlock we by laws restrain ; slight,

Why not prevent them when they're such again? For those who dress, and amorous scrolls indite.

Why not forbid the doting souls to prove TIIE FOOTMAN AND THE FARMER; SPRUCENESS

The indecent fondling of preposterous love? SOLID WORTH. - BRIDGET, ROGER, AND

In spite of prudence, uncontrolled by shame,

The amorous senior woog the toothless dame, For Bridget Dawdle happier days had been,

Relating idly, at the closing eve, Had footman Daniel scorned his native green ;

The youthful follies he disdains to leave ; Or when he came an idle coxcomb down,

Till youthful follies wake a transient fire, Had he his love reserved for lass in town;

When arm in arm they totter and retire. To Roger Pluck she then had pledged her truth, –

So two dried sticks, all fled the vital juice, A sturdy, sober, kind, unpolished youth ;

When rubbed and chafed, their latent heat produce; But from the day, that fatal day, she spied

All in one part unite the cheering rays, The pride of Daniel, Daniel was her pride.

And, kindling, burn with momentary blaze. In all his dealings, Hodge was just and true,

So two sear trees, dry, stunted, and unsound, But coarse his doublet was and patched in view,

Each other catch, when dropping to the ground ; And felt his stockings were, and blacker than his

Entwine their withered arms, 'gainst wind and shoe ;

weather, While Daniel's linen all was fine and fair,

And shake their leafless heads, and drop together. His master wore it, and he deigned to wear

So two dead limbs, when touched by Galvin's wire, (To wear his livery, some respect might prove ;

Move with new life, and feel awakened fire ; To wear his linen, must be sign of love);

Quivering a while their flaccid forms remain,
Blue was his coat, unsoiled by spot or stain ;

Then turn to cold torpidity again.
His hose were silk, his shoes of Spanish grain ;
A silver knot his breadth of shoulder bore ;

A diamond buckle blazed his breast before ;
Diamond he swore it was, and showed it as he swore: * But ever frowns your hymen? Man and maid,
Rings on his fingers shone ; his milk-white hand, Are all repenting, suffering, or betrayed ?'-
Could pick-tooth case and box for snuff command : Forbid it, love ; we have our couples here,
And thus, with clouded cane, a fop complete, Who hail the day, in each revolving year :
He stalked, the jest and glory of the street :

These are with us, as in the world around ; Joined with these powers, he could so sweetly sing, They are not frequent, but they may be found. Talk with such toss, and saunter with such swing; Our farmers, too, what though they fail to prove, Laugh with such glee, and trifle with such art, In hymen's bonds, the tenderest slaves of love, — That Bridget's promise failed to shield her heart. Nor, like those pairs whom sentiment unites,

Roger, meantime, to ease his amorous cares, Feel they the ferror of the mind's delights, Fixed his full mind upon his farm's affairs ;

Yet coarsely kind, and comfortably gay, Two pigs, a cow, and wethers half a score,

They heap the bcard, and hail the happy day ;


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And though the bride, now freed from school, admits
Of pride implanted there some transient fits ;
Yet soon she casts her girlish flights side,
And in substantial blessings rests her pride.


No more she plays, no more attempts to fit Her stops, responsive to the squeaking kit ; No more recites her French, the hinds among, But chides her maidens in her mother tongue ; Her tambour-frame she leaves, and diet spare, Plain-work and plenty with her house to share ; Till, all her varnish lost, in few short years, In all her worth, the farmer's wife appears.

Yet not the ancient kind ; not she who gave Her soul to gain — a mistress and a slave ; Who not to sleep allowed the needful time; To whom repose was loss, and sport a crime ; Who in her meanest room (and all were mean), A noisy drudge, from morn till night was seen ;But she, the daughter, boasts a decent room, Adorned with carpet formed in Wilton's loom ; Fair prints along the papered wall are spread ; There Werter sees the sportive children fed, And Charlotte here bewails her lover dead.

Thus both, as prudence counselled, wisely stayed, And cheerful then the calls of love obeyed : What if, when Rachel gave her hand, 't was one Embrowned by Winter's ice and Summer's sun ; What if in Reuben's hair the female eye Usurping gray among the black could spy ; What if, in both, life's bloomy flush was lost, And their full Autumn felt the mellowing frost; Yet time, who blowed the rose of youth away, Had left the vigorous stem without decay ; Like those tall elms in farmer Frankford's ground, They'll grow no more, — but all their growth is

sound ; By time confirmed and rooted in the land, (stand. The storms they've stood still promise they sball


'T is here, assembled, while in room apart, Their husbands, drinking, warm the opening heart, Our neighboring dames, on festal days, unite With tongues more fluent, and with hearts as light; Theirs is that art, which English wives alone, And wives like these, assert and prove their own;An art it is, where each at once attends To all, and claims attention from her friends ; When they engage the tongue, the eye,


ear, Reply when listening, and when speaking hear : The ready converse knows no dull delays, • But double are the pains, and double be the



REASON, PATIENCE, PIETY. Nor these alone (though favored more) are blest; In time the rash, in time the wretched, rest; They first sad years of want and anguish know, Their joys come seldom, and their pains pass slow; In health, just fed, in sickness, just relieved ; By hardships harassed, and by children grieved ; In petty quarrels and in peevish strife The once fond couple waste the spring of life; But, when to age mature those children grown, Find hopes, and homes, and hardships, of their own; When life's afflictions, long with dread endured, By time are lessened, or by caution cured ; Complaints and murmurs then are laid aside (By reason these subdued, and those by pride), And, calm in cares, with patience, man and wife Agree to share the bitter-sweet of life (Life that has sorrow much and sorrow's cure, Where they who most enjoy shall much endure); Their rest, their labor, duties, sufferings, prayers, Compose the soul, and fit it for its cares.




Yet not to those alone who bear command Heaven gives a heart to hail the marriage band ; Among their servants, we the pairs can show, Who much to love and more to prudence owe : Reuben and Rachel, though as fond as doves, Were yet discreet and cautious in their loves ; Nor sought their bliss at Cupid's wild commands, Till cool reflection bade them join their hands ; When both were poor, they thought it argued ill Of hasty love to make them poorer still ; Year after year, with savings long laid by, They bought the future dwelling's full supply ; Her frugal fancy culled the smaller ware, The weightier purchase was her Reuben's care ; Together then their last year's gain they threw, And, lo! an auctioned bed, with curtains neat and new !

1 Spenser.

Their graves before them, and their griefs behind, Have each a medicine for the rustic mind ; Nor has he care to whom his wealth shall go, Or who shall labor with his spade and hoe ; But as he lends the strength that yet remains, And some dead neighbor on his bier sustains (One with whom oft he whirled the bounding flail, Tossed the broad quoit, or took the inspiring ale): “For me (he thinks) shall soon this deed be done, A few steps forward, and my race is run ; ’T was first in trouble, as in error past, Dark clouds and stormy cares whole years o'ercast, But calm my setting day, and sunshine smiles at last: My vices punished and my follies spent, Not loth to die, but yet to live content, I rest :' – then casting on the grave his eye, He gives his friend a tear, and heaves himself a

sigh !


Sparkling, in cups of gold, your wines shall flow, FOILED AND CHANGED. — SIR EDWARD, FANNY, AND HER HONEST LOVER. THE PROSPEROCS LOVE-MATCH. THE Grace that fair hand, in that dear bosom glow ; DOUBLE TRIUMPH OF VIRTUE.

Fruits of each clime, and flowers through all the year, Last on my list appears a match of love

Shall on your walls and in your walks appear ; And one of virtue, — happy may it prove !

Where all beholding shall your praise repeat, Sir Edward Archer is an amorous knight,

No fruit so tempting, and no flower so sweet; And maidens chaste and lovely shun his sight ; The softest carpets in your rooms shall lie, His bailiff's daughter suited much his taste, Pictures of happiest loves shall meet your eye, For Fanny Price was lovely and was chaste ; And tallest mirrors, reaching to the floor, To her the knight with gentle looks drew near, Shall show you all the object I adore ; And timid voice, assumed to banish fear.

Who, by the hands of wealth and fashion dressed, Hope of my life, dear sovereign of my breast, By slaves attended and by friends caressed, Which, since I knew thee, knows not joy nor rest ; Shall move, a wonder, through the public ways, Know thou art all that my delighted eyes,

And hear the whispers of adoring praise.
My fondest thoughts, my proudest wishes, prize ; Your female friends, though gayest of the gay,
And is that bosom (what on earth so fair ?)

Shall see you happy, and shall, sighing, say,
To cradle some coarse peasant's sprawling heir ? While smothered envy rises in the breast,
To be that pillow, which some surly swain

“0, that we lived so beauteous and so blest !” May treat with scorn, and agonize with pain ?

Come, then, my mistress and my wife : — for she Art thou, sweet maid, a ploughman's wants to share, Who trusts my honor is the wife for me ; To dread his insult, to support his care?

Your slave, your husband, and your friend, employ, To hear his follies, his contempt to prove,

In search of pleasures we may both enjoy.' And (0, the torment !) to endure his love ;

To this the damsel, meekly firm, replied : Till want, and deep regret, those charms destroy, My mother loved, was married, toiled and died : That time would spare, for rapture to enjoy ? With joys she'd griefs, had troubles in her course,

With him, in varied pains, from morn till night, But not one grief was pointed by remorse ; Your hours shall pass ; yourself a ruffian's right; My mind is fixed, to Heaven I resign, Your softest bed shall be the knotted wool ;

And be her love, her life, her comforts, mine.' Your purest drink, the waters of the pool ;

Tyrants have wept; and those with hearts of steel,
Your sweetest food will but your life sustain ; Who caused the anguish they disdained to heal,
And your best pleasure be a rest from pain; (abate, Have at some time the power of virtue known,
While through each year, as health and strength And felt another's good promote their own :
You 'll weep your woes, and wonder at your fate ; Our knight, relenting, now befriends the youth
And cry, “Behold, as life's last cares come on, Who took the maid, with innocence and truth;
My burthens growing, when my strength is gone." And finds in that fair deed a sacred joy,

Now turn with me, and all the young desire, That will not perish, and that cannot cloy ;
That taste can form, that fancy can require ; A living joy, that shall its vigor keep,
All that excites enjoyment, or procures

When beauty all decays, and all the passions sleep.



Odes for November.


I saw old Autumn in the misty morn Stand shadowless like silence, listening To silence, for no lonely bird would sing Into his hollow ear from woods forlorn, Nor lowly hedge nor solitary thorn ; Shaking his languid locks, all dewy bright With tangled gossamer that fell by night, Pearling his coronet of golden corn.

O go and sit with her, and be o'ershaded
Under the languid downfall of her hair :
She wears a coronal of flowers faded
Upon her forehead, and a face of care ;
There is enough of withered everywhere
To make her bower, — and enough of gloom ;
There is enough of sadness to invite
If only for the rose that died, — whose doom
Is beauty's, - she that with the living bloom
Of conscious cheeks most beautifies the light ;
There is enough of sorrowing, and quite
Enough of bitter fruits the earth doth bear,-
Enough of chilly droppings for her bowl ;
Enough of fear and shadowy despair,
To frame her cloudy prison for the soul !

Where are the songs of Summer ? — With the sun,
Oping the dusky eyelids of the South,
Till shade and silence waken up as one,
And Morning sings with a warm, odorous mouth.
Where are the merry birds ? — Away, away,
On panting wings through the inclement skies,

Lest owls should prey

Undazzled at noon-day,
And tear with horny beak their lustrous eyes.


Where are the blooms of Summer? - In the West,
Blushing their last to the last sunny hours,
When the mild Eve by sudden Night is prest,
Like tearful Proserpine, snatched from her flowers

To a most gloomy breast.
Where is the pride of Summer, the green prime,-
The many, many leaves all twinkling ? — Three
On the mossed elm ; three on the naked lime
Trembling, and one upon the old oak tree !

Where is the Dryad's immortality ?
Gone into mournful cypress and dark yew,
Or wearing the long, gloomy Winter through

In the smooth holly's green eternity.

The squirrel gloats on his accomplished hoard,
The ants have brimmed their garners with ripe
And honey-bees have stored

The sweets of summer in their luscious cells;
The swallows all have winged across the main ;
But here the Autumn melancholy dwells,

And sigbs her tearful spells Amongst the gunless shadows of the plain.

Alone, alone,

Upon a mossy stone
She sits and reckons up the dead and gone,
With the last leaves for a love-rosary,
Whilst all the withered world looks drearily,
Like a dim picture of the drowned past

In the hushed mind's mysterious far away,
Doubtful what ghostly thing will steal the last

Into that distance, gray upon the gray.

SWEET country life, to such unknown,
Whose lives are others', not their own!
But, serving courts and cities, be
Less happy, less enjoying thee.
Thou never ploughed the ocean's foam,
To seek and bring rough pepper home ;
Nor to the eastern Ind dost

To bring from thence the scorchéd clove ;
Nor, with the loss of thy loved rest,
Bring'st home the ingot from the West.
No; thy ambition's master-piece
Flies po thought higher than a fleece ;
Or how to pay thy hinds, and clear
All scores, and so to end the year ;
But walk'st about thy own dear grounds,
Not craving others' larger bounds ;
For well thou know'st 't is not the extent
Of land makes life, but sweet content.
When now the cock, the ploughman's horn,
Calls for the lily-wristed morn,
Then to thy corn-fields thou dost go,
Which, though well soiled, yet thou dost know
That the best compost for the lands
Is the wise master's feet and hands.
There, at the plough, thou find'st thy team,
With a hind whistling there to them ;
And cheers them up by singing how
The kingdom's portion is the plough.
This done, then to the enamelled meads
Thou goest ; and as thy foot there treads,
Thou seest a present godlike power
Imprinted in each herb and flower ;

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