THE VILLAGE BEAUTY.
Under a spreading Gainsborough hat
The village beauty stands,
A maiden very fair to see,
With tiny feet and hands,
As stately, too, as if she owned
The squire's house and lands.
Her hair is golden brown and long,
Her brow is like the snow,
Her cheeks are like the rosy flush
Left by the sunset's glow,
She greets the lads with a careless look,
She's the village belle, you know.
Week in, week out, at morn and night,
The young miller comes each day;
"'Tis the nearest way to town," he says,
But 'tis rather out of his way,
And every night he seems to have
Plenty of time to stay!
And children, coming home from school
Look in at the door, and know
That the handsome fellow by her side
Is pretty Nellie's beau,
Who can hardly tear himself away,
When he finds 'tis time to go.
He goes on Sundays to the Church,
And sits in his proper pew,
But his eyes wander off to the transept near,
Where he sees a charming view,
For Nellie sits there, in her Sunday best,
With her bonnet of palest blue.
He hears the parson pray and preach
With his outward ear alone,
For he only listens for Nellie's voice,
And responds in a dreamy tone,
And when she smiles at the carpenter near,
He can't suppress a groan.
Despairing, hoping, fearing,
Onward thro' life he goes;
Each morning he sees Nellie,
And each evening, at its close;
She even haunts him sleeping,
And disturbs his night's repose.
Thanks, thanks to thee, my worthy friend,
For the lesson thou hast taught;
Thus at the flirting time of life
Our fortunes may be wrought,
So we cannot be too careful
Over every word and thought!
L. P.
From The Dunheved Mirror, Cornwall, March, 1880.