Her Father who was sadly poor,
And wander’d heedless were;
Just at the moment reach’d the door,
In wild, and deep dispair.
11
His wretched form, she knew full well,
His voice she knew as soon;
Her feelings now what pen can tell,
She dropt both fork and spoon.
12
She rush’d distracted to his arms,
In extacy of joy;
Nor dreamt that scoffs and rude alarms
Would e’er her peace destroy.
13
When at this moment from his hold,
The Magpie swiftly flew;
He seiz’d the spoon: ah! wretch so bold,
And dragg’d it from their view.
14
Swift to the Abbey then he sped,
Borne on the buoyant air;
Nor ever thought that as he fled,
Annette his guilt would bear.
